


Harmonize

by phate_phoenix



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phate_phoenix/pseuds/phate_phoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry wants to catch his mother's murderer. Caitlin wants her fiancé. Cisco wants a weapon. Hartley wants his freedom. Eobard wants to go home.</p>
<p>Things change. Some things don't.</p>
<p>(A telling of the new timeline.)</p>
<p>(<em>Other tags will be added as they come up in the story.</em>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sound and the Fury / Flash Back (partly)

**Author's Note:**

> I can't wait to see how canon eventually wrecks this fic, but, whatever. This is for fun.
> 
> Quick warning about this fanfic: it’s going to be redundant in some parts. Because of how _“Flash Back”_ left canon almost entirely untouched, there’s simply not a lot that _can_ be changed. But I hope that what I do change, the way the characters interact, how Hartley shifts things around him, I hope _that_ is entertaining.
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scenes occur a little while after Future!Barry leaves for the, uh, Future.

“Well,” Hartley said, sounding amused from where he was leaning against the back of his cell, “this is familiar.”

Cisco frowned at him. It _was_ familiar: Hartley standing in the cell, pale as a ghost, blue eyes watching behind square-rimmed glasses, brown hair douchily tousled, the glass door between them un-cracked, Cisco holding Hartley’s inventions in his hands. The main difference was _time,_ the urgency of the moment because he knew he had a limit of it. Cisco’s tan hands tightened around Hartley’s fried sonic gloves.

“We got interrupted before,” Cisco said.

Hartley scoffed. “Are we expecting the dementor to be back, too?”

There was a big part of Cisco that was thankful to Hartley for _probably saving his life,_ and that part wanted to squawk at him, tell him, _“Yo, me too! I said that too!”_ The other part, however, remembered what Doctor Wells said, that it was probably simple self-preservation that made Hartley act to save Cisco, Caitlin, and himself. That kept Cisco’s reaction to just the slightest of lip-twitches, brushing a stray strand of black hair behind his ear.

“No,” Cisco said firmly. Then he paused. “At least, not yet?” Hartley just looked unimpressed, and Cisco couldn’t help himself. “It’s a _future problem._ ”

 _‘Cisco, no,’_ a voice that sounded like a combination of Doctor Wells and Caitlin hissed in his mind.

At Hartley’s continued bland stare, Cisco shook himself free of that thought and held the gloves up. “It’s actually partly why I’m here. Your gloves got wrecked when you used them against the dementor, and the destructive signal you used is the only lead we have on destroying that thing. And we _need_ to know how to destroy it.”

Hartley perked up at that. “ _‘Need’?_ ” he echoed.

Cisco scoffed. “Slow your roll, cowboy. The timeframe’s about a year. We could do it without you.” Maybe. If they had two years, definitely.

Hartley’s head tilted, just slightly, to the side. The light glinted eerily off his glasses, and Cisco knew he was doing it on purpose. “Then why don’t you?” he drawled. “Why ask me for help at all?”

Cisco glanced to either side, raising his eyebrows. “Be- _cause_ you’re the expert on these things and you can do it faster? That’s generally why people ask other people to join in on a project.” Cisco held up his hands, waving the gloves a little. “I know, I know,” he continued, mockingly, “you’ve never had to work with another person on a project _in your life_ －”

“And the other things?” Hartley grumbled. He’d crossed his arms during Cisco’s little speech. “If the gloves are only partly why you’re here, what else is there?”

And Cisco’s throat tightened, and his mouth hung open uselessly. Hartley stared at him, eyebrows raised. “I－You－” Cisco tried, sounding strangled. He stopped, clenching his jaw, and swallowed.

Hartley stepped forward in his cell, head turning slightly to the side in his curiosity, like a bird. “Cisco?” he asked, a little tentative.

“You know how to find Ronnie,” Cisco finally blurted.

Hartley _stared_ in stunned silence.

Cisco scrambled forward, setting the gloves on the ground. “Look, listen,” he started, “Ronnie... Ronnie’s in trouble. He’s not well, Hartley, he’s... God, man, he looks like he hasn’t slept under a roof since the explosion.”

Hartley was still just staring, and Cisco pressed his hands against the glass cell door. “I’m begging you, man. You have to help.”

“How did you know that?” Hartley finally asked, voice almost a whisper. His eyes were wide, and he moved closer to the glass, to where Cisco was standing. “You want my help? Tell me how you _knew that._ ”

The esteemed Doctor Snow-Wells was shouting warnings in Cisco’s head again.

Cisco looked to the ceiling, grimacing. “I am going to get into so much trouble for this,” he muttered. Hartley’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and Cisco sighed. “Alright, dude. Time travel. That’s how I know.”

Hartley blinked.

Cisco nervously continued, babbling again, “We know the dementor-thing won’t be back because it’s currently going to... or already _is_ a year or so in the future. And I know you know because... someone from the future told me.”

Hartley was just staring again. Cisco groaned.

“C’mon, man,” he grumbled. “Either believe me or call me a liar. It’s the only story I have.”

“The Flash,” Hartley whispered, almost too quiet for Cisco to hear. He moved away from the glass door, staring into space. “The Flash can go fast enough to... to break through the space-time continuum?”

Cisco shrugged, and the movement drew Hartley’s attention again. “Eventually, anyways. Not yet. I think.” He shook his head. “Time travel is very confusing, and we’ve only known it was possible for, like, less than a day.”

Hartley tried to pace across his cell, but it was too small for that. He glared at his left wall, hands clenching and unclenching, before he turned back to Cisco. “You want my help? With the dementor, and with Ronnie?” Cisco nodded, and Hartley, like a whip, slammed a palm against the wall. “Then get me out of this thing.”

Cisco’s mouth opened, shut, and then he cringed. “Hartley. You attacked Doctor Wells. You blew up _police cars._ ” He paused, and spread his hands. “You also broke some windows on your parents’ building, but they totally deserved that.”

A small flicker of a smile appeared on Hartley’s face, but it was chased away by his seriousness. “I’m not asking you to _set me free,_ ” he snapped. “I wouldn’t say no, but, that’s not what I’m asking.” Hartley pressed his palms against the glass door. “If you want my help, then _let me help._ ”

Cisco hesitated. He’d had a daymare about get caught up in one of Hartley’s ear-bombs earlier. It had been vivid and terrifying, flying through the air, and he could almost feel the pain. Caitlin had recommended he get some sleep, but then she always did. “I’ll have to convince the others,” he finally said, but Cisco was sure he could manage it. Hartley had saved Caitlin and his _lives._ It had to be worth something. It _had_ to be.

Hartley smirked. “You’ll get it done,” he said with an air of finality. Then he let out a small laugh. “And, I guess the whole ‘Future-Flash’ does explain something.”

Cisco raised an eyebrow as he walked over to gather the sonic gloves. “Oh? Like what?”

Hartley held up his hands, slowly wriggling his fingers. “When the Flash grabbed me, outside Rathaway Industries, he told me, _‘Got you again.’_ ” Hartley rolled his eyes, dropping his hands to his sides. “I was worried that I might’ve _dated_ him at one point. This? Is far less creepy.”

Cisco blinked rapidly. “That says something about the guys you’ve dated that _that_ was even a possibility.”

Hartley smirked. “I suppose I should’ve jumped to _‘time-traveler from the future’_?”

Cisco paused, mouth open, and then huffed. “Fair enough.” There was an awkward pause, where Cisco held the sonic gloves, and Hartley stared at him. Finally, Cisco frowned. “You’re still a dick.”

That startled a bark of laughter out of Hartley, who then smirked. “But at least I’m working _with_ you.”

“Small mercies,” Cisco muttered, walking to the control console. He paused beside it, hand hovering over the controls. He looked at Hartley, and nodded to him. “See you soon, Hartley.”

Hartley nodded, a twist to his lips. “Adiós, _Cisquito._ ”

Cisco rolled his eyes, and then sealed Hartley away.

 

* * *

 

Turned out that simply stating _again_ that Hartley had saved Caitlin’s and Cisco’s lives _wasn’t_ enough to sway Doctor Wells.

“What part of _‘he stays in his cell’_ is hard to understand?” Doctor Wells grouched. He was sitting in the middle of the laboratory, arms crossed, blue eyes narrow behind his half-rim glasses. Barry was standing to his right, and his arms were _also_ crossed.

They looked oddly like father and son, both brunets with grumpy expressions. If Cisco hadn’t been so frustrated, he would’ve thought it was funny.

“He’s _dangerous,_ ” Barry said. His green eyes grew wide and he shifted to spread his hands out. “The guy put bombs in his _ears._ ”

Caitlin, who was standing beside Cisco and opposite Doctor Wells and Barry, frowned. “We’re not suggesting we just give him free reign of the lab equipment,” she said, a touch tart. She shook her head, brown hair bouncing. “But we don’t know how long it’s going to take to repair the gloves, or what frequency we need to use, or how to adjust the frequency, or how to weaponize sound waves like he did, or－”

“I understand that, Doctor Snow,” Doctor Wells said, dryly, and Caitlin fell quiet. “That doesn’t change the facts: likely the only _reason_ he wants into the lab is to facilitate his escape. We cannot risk having a brilliant mind like his poking around our computers.”

“That’s an easy fix,” Cisco chirped, raising his eyebrows when Doctor Wells frowned at him. “We just have to make a transmitter that gives off a signal to deny access to our files. Then we attach it to Hartley.”

“Easy, huh?” Barry grumbled.

Cisco raised an eyebrow. “Ye of little faith.”

Barry, unconvinced, crossed his arms again. “And if he decides to try and use his gloves on you?”

“Seriously, I have a plan,” Cisco said. “There’s some blueprints for handcuffs we were working on for the police before...” Cisco waved his hand through the air, “but it fell through because it gave the inmates too much range of motion.”

Caitlin bit her lip. “Hartley isn’t a _bad person,_ ” she said, quietly. “He’s a real jerk, don’t get me wrong,” she added when Cisco shot her a look, “but that doesn’t mean he’s _evil._ ”

Barry gestured to Doctor Wells, who was looking intently at Cisco. “He _attacked Doctor Wells,_ ” Barry said. “In his _home._ ”

Cisco cringed. “Yeah, I know, but－”

“There’s something else,” Doctor Wells said, suddenly, and Cisco’s hands snapped to his chest, curled into fists. Doctor Wells’s eyes narrowed. “You’re wildly intelligent, Mister Ramon, you know you could eventually figure out the gloves, the frequency variance.”

“Not in time,” Cisco muttered, futilely.

“But that’s not what’s driving you,” Doctor Wells said, and he tilted his head, just a little. “What is it, Cisco? What else does he have?”

Cisco glanced from Barry to Caitlin, pressing his knuckles together. “Ah, well,” he started. Failed. Then, with a deep breath, he closed his eyes and said, “He knows where Ronnie is.”

The silence was deafening.

“He _what?_ ” Caitlin asked, clipped and hard.

Cisco opened his eyes and found himself now facing down three people _alone._ Caitlin’s brown eyes stared hard at him, and Cisco shook his head. “I know, I know, it sounds like a trick, but it’s not. I promise you guys it’s not.”

“Cisco, I told you,” Caitlin began, and Cisco shook his head harder.

“It’s not－it’s not just for you,” he said, quietly. His heart was racing, and his eyes felt hot. “It’s for me. Because... because of what I did.”

Caitlin blinked, drawing back. Barry’s brow furrowed. Doctor Wells steepled his fingers, elbows resting on his legs. “What are you talking about, Cisco?” Doctor Wells asked, gently.

Cisco swallowed heavily, but he couldn’t fight the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. “I-I sealed Ronnie into the particle accelerator. Before it exploded.”

Caitlin’s face, eyes going wide and cheeks going pale, broke Cisco’s heart. He continued, tearing off the bandage. “He told me to wait two minutes, and I did but...” Cisco wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. “He didn’t come back. And I just... I keep thinking. If I’d waited ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Maybe... maybe Ronnie wouldn’t be like he is now.”

Caitlin swallowed. “Cisco.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cisco said, through gritted teeth. “I wanted to tell you, so many times before but I－”

“Cisco, it’s okay,” Caitlin said, and swiftly latched onto him, pulling him into a hug. Cisco could feel the slight quivering in her hands. “What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t _anybody’s fault._ ”

Cisco grabbed the back of her shirt and just hung on. Just for a moment.

“Ronnie would tell you, that you did the right thing,” Caitlin murmured. “Thank you for telling me.”

There was a long sigh, and Cisco pulled his head away from Caitlin’s shoulder to blink at Doctor Wells. His eyes were closed, his hands resting in his lap. “I suppose you should dig out those blueprints, Mister Ramon,” he said, opening his eyes. “Let’s see if we can add a transmitter to them.”

Barry tilted his head slightly to the side. His own eyes were glassy, but he looked curious. “But, how do you know you can trust Hartley to tell the truth?”

Cisco shrugged, stepping away from Caitlin and grinning. “Easy,” he said, voice only a little rough. “I was told to by a most trustworthy source.” He smiled. “You.”

Barry blinked, and then let out a small laugh, even as his cheeks pinked. “I’ll remember that the next time you accuse me of cheating at Mario Kart.”

Doctor Wells backed up, nodding down the hall. “Do you think you can get started without me? I’ll be back in a moment.”

Cisco nodded, smiling. “Not a problem, Doctor Wells. We’ve got this,” he said, and bound over to his workstation. Barry and Caitlin were only a few steps behind.

“I’ve got to see these handcuffs,” Barry muttered.

Cisco grinned. “They’re _magnetic._ ”

 

* * *

 

Hartley wasn’t surprised when he felt his cell lurch into motion again. He had heard the small motor coming down the hallway several seconds ago, could hear the sound of tires rolling over to the console by the pipeline door. The anti-proton cavity－repurposed as a _prison cell_ －he was being kept in was hoisted by the maintenance arm, its mechanics grinding loudly in Hartley’s ears.

But above it all, Hartley could still hear the slightly-fast heartbeat of Harrison Wells.

The moving stopped. Hartley rolled his shoulders against the wall, and then shoved himself to his feet, straightening his shirt and pants. He’d been waiting for this almost since he first arrived, sniping at Cisco and Caitlin, and flirting with the Flash. He was, however, a little surprised at how quickly after Cisco had left that the man had chosen to come talk to him.

Another beep, and then more pistons moving as the large metal doors leading to the lab proper opened. And there, alone, sat Harrison Wells. The game was on.

Hartley opened his mouth.

“I don’t have time for a tête-à-tête, Hartley, so I’ll make this quick,” Wells said, and Hartley stilled. This was not the Wells he’d played chess with. No, this was the Wells who’d blackmailed him into allowing countless people to be injured. Into allowing seventeen people to die.

Hartley’s heartbeat quickened. “I take it this means none of your little pets are watching,” he said, mind racing. Every instinct in Hartley was screaming _DANGER DANGER DANGER._

Wells smirked at him, and then said, voice low and dark, “You’re not going to breathe a word of my secrets to _anyone._ ”

The certainty Wells spoke with was horrifying. Hartley couldn’t help his small, startled intake of air. It was probably unnoticeable to Wells, but Hartley could hear the sharp hiss of the gasp, the ratcheting of his own pulse.

This was not the man who had blackmailed him. This was another mask－or maybe the others were masks, and here, _finally,_ was the true face of Harrison Wells.

Hartley wished he’d never seen it.

“And if I don’t?” Hartley asked, barely able to keep his tone level. Because he had to know the stakes to this game. What the rules were, what the punishments were, what the win condition was.

When he would have to flip the board over.

Wells leaned forward in his wheelchair, eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Then,” he hissed, “I’ll do worse than leaving you in this cell, alone, for months. I’ll do worse than _Rickroll_ you. I’ll do worse than _blackmail_ you.” He leaned back. “Do you _understand?_ ”

Hartley’s heartbeat pounded. He kept his expression blank. “Completely,” he said, and felt a small quiver start in his fingers.

Wells smiled. “Good,” he said, starting to turn around. “Then, I guess I’ll see you soon, Hartley.”

“Do they know?”

Wells paused, turning slightly in his chair. “Know what?”

Hartley swallowed, throat dry. “Do they know that you don’t need that chair?”

Wells watched him for a moment more, and Hartley _did not squirm._ “If that rumor starts spreading,” Wells murmured, probably barely loud enough for the man’s own ears, but Hartley’s picked them up perfectly, “then _you’ll_ be the one in need of this chair.”

Wells didn’t wait a second more before slamming the metal doors closed. Hartley kept himself still, blank, as the cell moved back into its slot on the wall. There were cameras, Hartley was sure, and he wasn’t going to give Wells the _satisfaction_ of his fear. When the grinding stopped, when Wells’s heartbeat and whining motor moved away, finally, Hartley slowly moved to the corner of his cell and sat there, curling over his knees. His heartbeat calmed.

“A fronte praceipitium a tergo lupi,” Hartley muttered, hands curling into fists, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fronte praceipitium a tergo lupi  
> \- Latin; _A precipice in front, wolves behind_  
>  Essentially, _“between a rock and a hard place”_ , but Eobard is far more like a wolf than a rock. Said by Hartley to Eobard in the flashback of _‘The Sound and the Fury’_ , it seemed appropriate to use it again here.


	2. Crazy on You

The laboratory had changed significantly since Hartley had worked there. Oh, the bones were the same, but the function, the _soul_ of the place had changed. He remembered screens that had once monitored the inner-workings of the accelerator, estimated speeds, translated readings into data. Now, those same screens held information on _meta-humans_ , and tracking data showing how fast the Flash was, the growth in his reaction times. Even Wells’s office, where he and Hartley had played chess between grand and great ideas, had been converted into another lab area. Hartley could see his gloves there, through the glass walls.

And that didn’t even _touch_ on the fact that the Flash’s leather suit was sitting out on _display._

“So _this_ is what the secret lair of a superhero looks like,” Hartley said, for lack of anything else to say. He felt like he was in a stranger’s home, even though he’d spent some of the best days of his life there.

Still. All the tools he’d need to escape were right here. Somewhere.

Cisco smirked. “Well, it’s what _our_ secret superhero lair looks like,” he said, smugly. Then he paused. “Not that I’ve seen another superhero lair to compare.” Then he tensed. “Not that _any of us_ have seen another superhero lair. Or that we even _know_ another superhero－”

“Cisco, stop,” Caitlin said pleadingly, walking out of one of the new labs. Hartley had heard the whirring motor of his wheelchair several seconds ago, so he was able to keep his expression at _unimpressed_ as Harrison Wells wheeled in only a few paces behind her.

“Yup, doing that,” Cisco said.

Wells stopped a few feet away from Hartley, leaning back in his chair. He looked directly at Cisco. “Do the restraints work?” he asked.

Cisco grinned, gesturing at Hartley. Specifically, at the three-inch-long metal bracers setting an inch above his wrists on his exposed arms. Two others were under his pants, just above each knee. “Yeah, just as I said. Magnets.”

“Shall I model them for you?” Hartley drawled, rolling his head to look Cisco’s way.

Cisco gave him a bland look. “You could be in the cell.”

Hartley rolled his eyes and let Cisco continue.

“The magnets in the cuffs respond to a signal, and either attract or repulse depending on the signal,” Cisco explained. “If Hartley tries anything－”

“My wrists attach to my knees,” Hartley finished in a bored tone, tapping the metal together. He raised his eyebrows, eyes jumping from Cisco, to Caitlin, to Wells, and then back to Cisco. “Are we going to get on with my show-and-tell?”

Caitlin’s spine somehow, impressively, straightened more. Wells narrowed his eyes. Cisco swallowed, and then nodded. “Alright, Hartley,” he said. “Tell us what you know about Ronnie.”

Without another word, Hartley wandered over to the main console. “Cisco told me I’ve been locked out of all the computers,” he said, and waved the metal wristband around the monitors. Each of them popped up with a red error message, and when Hartley pulled his wrist away, the message vanished on its own. “That means I’ll need someone to hack into the CCPD computer files for me.”

He received several blank stares. Caitlin actually raised an eyebrow at him. Hartley spread his hands. “We can always just go there ourselves－”

“Absolutely _not,_ ” Cisco said, eyes wide. Wells and Caitlin shot Cisco bewildered looks, and Cisco cleared his throat. “Taking him out of the labs... just seems like a bad idea, right?”

Hartley gestured back at the control stations. “Then, if you would?”

Cisco’s eyes narrowed. “What does the CCPD have on Ronnie?”

Hartley, rolling his eyes, sighed. “That’s the wrong question,” he said. “The real question is: what could the CCPD have, that STAR Labs doesn’t?”

“A license to kill?” Cisco offered, irritation obvious in his tone.

Hartley glanced at Caitlin, whose brow had furrowed, but more in thought than anger. “They have any number of things. But... nothing we don’t already have here.”

Wells suddenly sat up in his chair, and Hartley kept his flinch to just a quick blink. “The security footage,” Wells said, suddenly, and Cisco gasped, rushing forward and past Hartley. “The CCPD confiscated all our security footage of the event. We no longer have a copy of any of it on our servers.”

Hartley nodded. “They also took traffic cam footage,” he offered, and stepped aside as Caitlin briskly walked to Cisco.

“Okay, I’m in,” Cisco said. A copy of his screen popped up on several of the monitors lining the control room, showing a dozen folders filled with video files. “What am I looking for?”

“Surveillance Camera B,” Hartley said, watching on the television monitor. “Look for the timestamp matching when the particle accelerator finally went up.” He glanced Wells’s way, but the man’s eyes were glued to the screens.

Caitlin had her arms crossed, eyes wide as she peered over Cisco’s shoulder. “But this is the camera just outside,” she said, looking up. “What does this have to do with Ronnie?”

Hartley curled his lips into a facsimile of a smile. “They do say that seeing is believing.”

Caitlin kept her gaze on him for a moment more, then looked down when Cisco inhaled. “Found it,” he said.

Hartley looked up at the television. _‘REC 4566637288,’_ the file read, and Hartley nodded. “Let’s roll the tape.”

Cisco hesitated a second more, and then Caitlin reached out and tapped the button.

The video started moments after the accelerator had blown. People were lying all along the sidewalk, crumpled on the stairs. Only one person was truly stirring, an older man grabbing a cube with glowing energy.

“Wait!” Caitlin shouted, eyes going wide, and Cisco paused the footage. “That’s Stein! That’s Professor Martin Stein!”

Cisco’s head snapped around to look at her. “The project leader on FIRESTORM?!” He turned and stared at the screen. “He was here that night?”

“He walked right by me,” Hartley said, drawing all of their attentions. He smirked. “Professor Stein specializes in transmutation, molecular transmography, and quantum splicing.” He raised his eyebrows at Cisco, waiting. Cisco kept his expression blank.

“Stein was trying to make a single object out of two separate ones, on a molecular level,” Wells said from somewhere beside Hartley. Hartley didn’t look his way.

“We should continue,” Hartley said. “Find out where Ronnie... _ties into_ all of this.” He walked over to a television, away from Wells, and tapped onto Stein. “Zoom in on him, and now advance the video frame-by-frame.”

Cisco tapped a bit at his station. Caitlin’s eyes were glued onto the monitor, and Hartley could tell she was beginning to understand where Hartley was leading them.

Wells had probably known from the start.

The video began advancing again, and they watched as Stein lifted the strange cube holding the glowing orb. Then he was hit by the initial wave of dark matter.

Caitlin sucked in a breath. “His eyes,” she whispered. “Th-they’re white.”

“They look like... Ronnie’s,” Cisco said.

Hartley waited, watching the footage, watching for the next great wave of energy, and then－ “Stop!” he called.

Cisco pulled away from the keyboard. Caitlin already had her hands over her mouth.

“Ronnie,” she breathed.

There, in the energy wave striking Stein, was Ronnie’s face. He looked almost like a ghost, being pushed along. And maybe he had been, at the time.

“Holy smokes,” Cisco said, looking up.

Wells was silent as the grave.

“Continue,” Hartley said. “Watch.” Frame by frame the video played. “The dark energy merged both Ronnie and Stein into one thing,” Hartley said.

“That’s why Ronnie’s been acting so strange,” Cisco said, leaning back into his chair. On the screen, the merged figure of Stein and Ronnie was vaporized, particles shoved far away from the blast site. “Because he’s... not Ronnie.”

“Not entirely, anyway,” Hartley said, turning away from the screen. Caitlin’s eyes were wide open and watery, but her expression remained firm as stone, and she strangled her grief. Her heart, however, pounded in Hartley’s ears. Cisco looked stunned, his heart racing, too.

“How did you come across this information, Mister Rathaway?” Wells asked, and a chill rolled down Hartley’s shoulders.

Cisco blinked, and his eyes locked onto Hartley’s. “Yeah, how did...” His eyes widened. “You said you saw Professor Stein? The night of the explosion. You said he walked right by you.”

Caitlin was quiet, but she, too, was staring intensely at Hartley. And he could feel Wells’s eyes boring into his back.

Hartley took a breath. And he lied.

He was good at that.

“Of course I was there,” Hartley said with a sneer. He gestured at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the entirety of the place. “I helped _build it._ Of _course_ I wanted to be here when it turned on.” He paused. Hesitated. “I wanted to see the outcome of what I helped make.”

Cisco wilted. Yes, the glorious outcome of this endeavor.

“But how,” Caitlin started, her voice holding the slightest quaver, that only Hartley’s enhanced ears could pickup. She swallowed. “How did you know about _this?_ ”

Hartley was saved from answering by Cisco’s phone buzzing, and he felt an undo amount of relief. Cisco cleared his throat, looking down at it and then raised his head.

“It’s－” he stopped, looked at Hartley, and then continued, “the Flash.”

Hartley rolled his eyes and held out his hands. “My free time for today is over, I suppose.”

Caitlin quickly came around the control panel. “I’ll walk Hartley back to his cell,” she said.

Cisco had answered the phone. “Don’t say anything, Hartley’s in the lab,” he said quickly, and Hartley could hear the other man sputter on the other side of the line.

Wells rolled forward. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” Caitlin blurted. She smiled, a little too wide, and grabbed Hartley’s arm. “We all know how to work the handcuffs.” She nodded. “I can handle it.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “Can we go?” he said, loudly. “Before the Flash has a fit over being quiet. I can hear him fidgeting through the phone.”

Cisco squawked and Caitlin grabbed his arm and started dragging him out of the lab.

 _“Wow,”_ Hartley could hear the Flash say as Caitlin marched him towards the pipeline. _“He really_ is _a dick.”_

“I know, right?” Cisco responded, and the rest of the conversation was muffled by someone－Wells, probably－turning on some classical music.

“So,” Hartley began, as Caitlin pulled him down the halls, “what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Caitlin glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “What?” she said, voice high. “There’s nothing. Nothing at all. Nope.”

Hartley snorted. “I see,” he said, and waited.

As soon as the glass door to Hartley’s cell had been closed, Caitlin broke.

“Okay, fine,” Caitlin said. She planted her hands on her hips. Then she crossed her arms. Then she let them flop uselessly to her sides. “I just... I want to know.”

Hartley frowned, discomfort rising up inside him. “Why? How I knew has nothing to do with fixing or finding Raymond and Stein.”

Caitlin blinked, and then nodded. “No, but, I want to know what _I_ missed. I thought I looked _everywhere_ for him. For any sign that he was alive. I just...”

She trailed off, her eyes sliding to the ground. Ah. That would explain it.

Caitlin continued on. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said, swiftly. “If you tell me, I’ll get you your favorite Thai dish.”

That had Hartley raising his eyebrows. “Whenever I want?”

Caitlin lifted her chin. “Even if you wanted it every day.”

Hartley wavered. The discomfort seemed very insignificant to having something... nice. “Fine,” he said.

Caitlin smiled, a real, honest smile. Hartley shifted, discomfort doubling.

She’d never been Hartley’s friend. Hartley hadn’t had _any_ friends in STAR Labs. Except for Wells, perhaps. But that had been a lie, and it _hadn’t been worth it._

“So?” Caitlin asked, stepping close to the glass door. “What was it?”

Still, Hartley _wanted_ that Thai food. “I remember Stein walking by me, but, many of my memories immediately following the explosion are... foggy,” he said, stepping backwards until he was leaning against the wall of his cell.

Caitlin nodded. “The head trauma you mentioned. The one that made the dark matter effect your hearing?”

Hartley nodded, slowly, crossing his arms. “The explosion must have caused me to fall, because I recall being on the ground.” He’d known he was hurt, with blood on his hands and screaming pain in his ears, and he had _panicked_ －he’d only been working at Stagg Industries for a few weeks, he hadn’t earned full health insurance yet, he couldn’t go the hospital, he was so close to being _broke_ －

Hartley shook himself free of the memory, and refocused on Caitlin. “I found his empty briefcase lying on the sidewalk. It had had the acronym ‘FIRESTORM’ on it.” Hartley had actually stumbled and nearly fallen on it. The injury to his ears had destroyed his sense of balance, and, in the end, he’d had to more or less _crawl_ home.

Caitlin nodded. “And then?”

And then he’d laid in his bed, screaming in agony with a pillow shoved over his head. For _days._ “I read about Stein’s disappearance in the news later, and since I was the last one to see him,” Hartley shrugged, “I thought I’d look into it.”

“And, that was it?” Caitlin asked. She sounded almost disappointed, as if the fact that there _wasn’t_ something more she could have done was worse than not doing everything.

But it wasn’t _everything._

“There is one more thing,” Hartley offered, and he heard Caitlin’s heart-rate increase. “Outside the side door, where Surveillance Camera B is? There’s a Bakudan no Kajey.” At Caitlin’s confused expression, Hartley sighed. “It’s Japanese. It means－”

“Bomb shadow,” Caitlin said, shaking her head. “I know, it’s just... It’s Kage, not Ka-jey.”

Hartley stared. “You know Japanese?”

Caitlin lifted her chin. “Some,” she said primly. “But, this bomb shadow you saw? You think it was Professor Stein’s?”

Hartley nodded. “It’s in the correct spot for it to be his. It matches his silhouette. I saw it and immediately went looking for the corresponding footage.”

Caitlin nodded. “And that’s when you found the file.”

“Yes,” Hartley said. He raised an eyebrow. “I hope you realize I’m expecting Thai food tomorrow for dinner.”

Caitlin smiled at him. “I am very aware,” she said, and nodded again. “Thank you, Hartley.”

Hartley, his arms still crossed, simply nodded back. “Until tomorrow, Doctor Snow.”

Caitlin shook her head, stepping back, and sealed the chamber.

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Cisco loudly declared from the control room, as Hartley carefully pulled another shorted wire out of his sonic gloves, “I didn’t actually consider the whole... _‘secret identity thing’_ being a problem.”

“Why so _loud_ Cisco?” Caitlin whimpered, where she was hunched over by her own workstation. Apparently, Caitlin and the Flash had gone out drinking the night before, and, while the Flash was no worse for wear, she was suffering from a hangover.

Hartley watched as Cisco winced. “Oh, yeah, ah, sorry.”

“No, no, this is good,” the Flash said, where he was awkwardly standing by another station, donned in his red leather suit and cowl. “We should get used to calling me Flash instead of...” The Flash paused, mouth hanging open for a second. Then he continued. “Instead of my real name.”

The amplifiers were all shot, Hartley found as he let out a small sigh. At least _here_ he had access to _proper materials,_ instead of what he could salvage from RadioShack.

Or steal.

“I agree with _the Flash,_ ” Wells added, moving across the lab. “There might come a time when someone has hacked into our radio frequency or, like Mister Rathaway－” Hartley rolled his eyes and adjusted the light to see if he’d have to replace the solder－ “simply be capable of hearing it naturally.”

“Yay,” Cisco cheered sarcastically. “Let’s kill _all_ the fun.”

“Oh!” the Flash said, practically bouncing around his workstation. “Maybe we should _all_ get secret names!”

Hartley stared at the tweezers he was holding and contemplated ramming them into his jugular.

“Dude, _yes,_ ” Cisco said, starting towards the Flash.

“No,” Wells said.

“And the fun is dead again.”

“Can the fun be _quieter?_ ”

Wells let out a long sigh. “I take it this means you’ve all discovered how to stop our teleporting meta-human?”

The Flash cleared his throat. “Not... exactly. I’m waiting to see the outcome of a test, see if I coat her cells with something. Then maybe they’ll just stay put?”

Cisco held his hands out. “I’m still thinking we should just tranquilize her.”

Hartley looked up from his work to see Wells take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. “I should have looked at this last night,” he muttered. “I can feel a headache coming on.”

“I have some aspirin,” Caitlin said, adjusting her large sunglasses. “Also, we could dim the lights a little. Or a lot.”

Hartley was fed up. “I don’t know about you people,” he snapped, drawing all four pairs of eyes to him, “but I can’t work _in the dark._ ”

There was a long, drawn-out pause. Hartley blinked, raising his eyebrows, and then droned, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“That could work,” Cisco was suddenly saying, rushing past the Flash, who was speeding around the lab and grabbing equipment. Caitlin quickly moved tablets out of the way of the frontmost workstation, and Cisco was plugging in and adjusting the various things the Flash brought over to him. Wells had wheeled behind the workstation to watch the chaos unfold.

Hartley was intrigued despite himself.

“Okay, so,” Cisco began, “here are Shawna’s, AKA Peek-A-Boo’s－awesome work Caitlin－particulates.” He nodded. “Active, bouncing around the petri dish, and they’re in normal light. And now, the grand test, turning off the light and turning on night vision.”

A key was aggressively pushed.

And the trio broke out into cheers. Cisco and the Flash high-fived while Caitlin took a few steps away, pressing a hand to her temple.

“That was a bad idea,” she said, and Cisco and the Flash cringed.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry,” the Flash said, and Caitlin waved him off.

“We solved the problem, so, yay,” she said, but still rubbed at the sides of her head. “Peek-A-Boo needs light to do her thing.”

Cisco snickered. “Well, it was thanks to your hangover-induced headache and Hartley’s generally poor attitude.”

“Bésame el culo.”

“Tirate a un pozo.”

The Flash’s phone began to ring, and he sped off to answer it out of Hartley’s range of hearing. Wells sighed. “Gentlemen, please－”

The Flash was suddenly back, standing in the doorway, and Hartley’s spine straightened. His heart rate had increased dramatically, more so than even during their brief fight in front of Rathaway Industries.

“I gotta go,” the Flash said, voice shaking.

Cisco was suddenly at his side. “B-brother,” he stuttered, “what is it? What’s wrong?”

The Flash blinked, shaking his head a little. “I－My dad,” he said, sounding lost. His heart was like the whirring of a helicopter in Hartley’s head. “He-he was stabbed.”

“Oh my God,” Caitlin whispered, and reached out and touched his arm. “We understand. Get going.”

Wells nodded. “Go be with your father. We can handle it for right now.”

The Flash nodded, several times, like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. Caitlin was suddenly moving away. “I’ll drive you.”

The Flash swallowed. “I-I couldn’t－”

“Just to your house,” she said, firmly, “where you can get a ride with... another friend.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You helped me out last night. Let me help you now.”

The Flash stood there, just watching her. Finally, he nodded. “Thank you,” he said, soft.

Caitlin took charge, hangover be damned, and had the Flash marching out of the room in a minute’s time. Hartley was a little impressed. But, yet, it was hard to feel anything behind the weight that had been dropped into his stomach. The Flash had a father. He had a father who he loved, who probably cared about him. It was a strange thing to get hung-up on. Superheroes don’t have _families._

And neither do supervillains.

Hartley drowned himself in that thought as he kept working, stopping only when Caitlin returned with lunch, and even then just briefly. Cisco had disappeared to work on a special cell for Peek-A-Boo almost as soon as Caitlin had gone the first time.

Despite the quite and the calm, Hartley was getting very little work done.

“Alright, shove over.”

The words startled Hartley out of his thoughts. Cisco was already moving the sonic gloves aside, and Hartley fought the urge to punch him.

“I was _working_ on that,” he hissed. Cisco leveled him an unimpressed look, even as his heart rate stayed above-average. Hartley gestured to the gloves. “If you want me to have these fixed, then I need to _work on them._ ”

Cisco shrugged. “Your gloves are an important backup, and they’ve got the data on the frequencies we need, I know that,” he replied, and then shoved what looked to be the beginnings of a _gun_ in front of Hartley. “But we also need to work on the end product here.” Cisco smirked. “I call it: _the Expecto-No,_ ” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Because it fights dementors, right?”

Hartley was about to rage some more, about to simply grab the stupid prototype and throw it into his face, when he realized: Cisco wanted a distraction. Sure, Hartley could give him that distraction by picking a fight with him, but that would probably lose him his lab privileges. And the Thai food.

It also occurred to Hartley, then, that perhaps he needed the distraction as much as Cisco did.

“The Expecto-No is a terrible name,” he said, and pulled the gun closer to the light.

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s _my_ job to name things around here,” he said, watching as Hartley poked through the guts of the weapon.

“Oh really,” Hartley muttered, and pointed to one of the tools on the workstation, and Cisco passed it over. “Then what grand name would you have given me, if I hadn’t had the amazing foresight to name myself and avoid it?”

“ _The Loud Loser._ ”

“How very pithy of you.”

They spent several hours working on the Expecto-No gun (one day, Hartley would change that name) before duty, or, rather, the Flash, called.

_“Guys?”_

Hartley jumped. The voice was coming from the center console of the control room, and he hadn’t been expecting it. The tiny screw he had been holding with a pair of tweezers shot off into a distant corner of the room.

Cisco, however, was already running for the center workstation. “We’re here, Flash,” he called. Caitlin was already at the workstation, typing something. Wells, too, moved to the center of the console.

“What’s going on?” Wells asked.

 _“So, I think Peek-A-Boo and Clay Parker are about to rob a money transfer vehicle,”_ the Flash’s voice came through the speakers, and Hartley could pick up on the rumbling of large engines, and the rush of air as he moved at superspeeds. _“A TDK truck from St. Louis.”_

“Tracking it now,” Cisco said.

“How’s your dad?” Caitlin asked, Cisco typing continuing in the background.

And there were footsteps and a fifth heartbeat coming towards the lab.

 _“He’ll be okay,”_ the Flash said. “The guy who did it is the one who gave me the head’s up.”

The footsteps were coming closer. The heartbeat was steady, belying no tension. Friendly, or very, very confident.

“B－ _Flash,_ ” Wells started, faltering at first, “what did you do?”

 _“I broke him out of prison,”_ the Flash said, smugly amused.

Caitlin was gaping. “You _what?_ ”

Hartley looked up. “Someone’s coming down the hall,” he said at last, and Cisco spun around in his chair to face the doorway.

 _“Guys?!”_ the Flash’s voice squawked, just as the person stepped into the control room. Immediately, everyone relaxed, and Cisco even sent Hartley a glare.

“Don’t worry,” Cisco called. “It was only Joe.”

The black man in a dark suit and striped tie, Joe, gave everyone a rather bewildered look. Then his dark eyes rose and he caught sight of Hartley, sitting in what had once been Wells’s office. Hartley raised his metal-ringed arms and went back to putting the screw in place on the Expecto-No.

_“Oh, that’s good. So, um, where’s the truck?”_

Wells leaned forward. “Two miles north, point-three miles west. What’s this about you breaking a man out of prison?”

Joe finally looked away from Hartley and turned to the others. “It’s not a problem,” Joe said. “He was caught literally feet outside the gate. Claiming the Flash broke him out.” Joe tilted his head. “He’ll be going away for a long time.”

 _“Away from my father,”_ the Flash said.

Hartley frowned as he tightened the screw. So, Flash’s father had been stabbed by a person in a prison? Either the man was one of the guards－likely－or an inmate－unlikely.

 _“Crap,”_ the Flash hissed. _“Found the truck and Peek-A-Boo. And they’re turning away from the truck. I guess they got what they wanted.”_

Wells leaned forward. “And now it’s our turn.”

What followed sounded oddly like a porno, with breathy grunts and gasps, and the sound of flesh striking flesh. Except Hartley could hear the running engine of a car, and an odd whooshing sound, followed by the rush of air that Hartley was starting to associate with high-speed.

The car-engine sounds became more pronounced, and Hartley could picture it driving by the Flash in his mind. The car noises began to quiet, and Wells frowned. “Remember, Barry: she cannot teleport if she cannot _see._ ”

Seconds later, there was the sound of shattering glass, over and over and over. The car noise got loud and quieter very quickly. And then－

Hartley scowled at his hands, because he’d nearly knocked the next screw out of place with his lapse in attention. He wasn’t a part of their family. He was there under _duress._ He had a plan. Or, he’d _had_ a plan, once.

How long were they going to keep him there? How long after Hartley was done with this weapon would Wells keep him _alive?_

“So,” a voice said, near Hartley’s workstation, and he glanced up. Joe was leaning against the glass entryway, arms crossed. “You’re Hartley Rathaway.”

Hartley bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Indeed I am,” he said. Behind Joe, the lab was empty: Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells were gone. Which probably meant the Flash had captured this Peek-A-Boo, and they were preparing her specially-designed cell. So Joe was there to babysit him.

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try to give me that attitude,” he said, and Hartley was taken aback by his tone. “I’ve arrested jaywalkers more intimidating than you.”

“You’re a cop,” Hartley said, and he nodded to himself. “That explains why STAR Labs is apparently handling police evidence.”

There was the start of a plan in Hartley’s mind. Perhaps not an _escape_ plan, but one that might just save his life.

“Well,” Joe began, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s hard to walk into the labs at CCPD with a vial full of teleporting dust and get something sort of coherent.”

The man was being... very friendly. Too friendly for a cop to be to someone who’d attacked people on his force. He wanted something.

But that was fine. Hartley wanted something, too.

Hartley smiled, a bit realer-looking, but it felt just as false. “I doubt you get much coherency from this bunch.”

Joe smiled back, and Hartley could see the fake edges on it, too. They were both playing the game, both aware of the rules. There were cameras almost everywhere in STAR Labs, and the vast majority of them had audio. Joe, having access to STAR Labs’s recordings of the explosion, would know that.

Joe shrugged again. “I’m used to it,” he offered. “My son started taking AP classes in grammar school, so, this is almost familiar territory for me.”

Hartley’s smile widened. “I outgrew tutors before I could properly learn their names,” he offered back.

Joe tilted his head to the side. “I suppose you didn’t really have a mental equal until you came to work here.”

Hartley allowed his eyebrows to twitch upward, just slightly, before he shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t really find that here, either. Wells was the closest I came, but, his brilliance surpasses even mine.”

Joe nodded. “Wells and you were close, then?”

And there it was. “For a time, Wells was the only person I considered family,” Hartley said, and the pain of that wound was still fresh, still _aching,_ all these months later. His smile became bitter, twisted. “That changed.”

_‘I want to give you Wells. I want to help you string-up, tar-and-feather, and quarter Wells.’_

Joe’s eyes zeroed in on Hartley, staring at him with deep intensity. “Why? What caused the change?”

For a moment, Hartley almost said it, cameras and threats be _damned._ Whatever Wells thought he could do－whatever Wells probably _could_ do－he wasn’t mad enough to take on a police officer. But then, Hartley heard the buzzing motor getting closer, followed by two other footsteps. The high-speed flutter of the Flash’s heart, and the subtle squeak of Cisco’s sneakers.

Hartley flicked his eyes to the doorway. “Maybe another time, Detective,” he muttered, and switched off his workstation light.

Joe’s brow furrowed, but his expression cleared when the Flash, Cisco, and Wells entered the room.

“I hope Mister Rathaway was well behaved,” Wells said as he drew closer. Hartley clenched his jaw to keep from glaring.

“Meh,” Joe said, pulling away from the doorway. “You get him talking about himself, and he’s pretty distracted.”

Cisco and the Flash snickered. Hartley didn’t have to pretend to be outraged at that, mouth thinning into a line. He saw the narrowed-eyed look Joe threw him, but he kept his expression constant. “It was either that or hear you blather on about that son of yours,” Hartley returned.

Joe’s face shifted into a furious expression for a moment, before calming into disdain. Cisco and the Flash, however, only seemed to get even _more_ amused. “Alright, prickly,” Cisco said, walking over and grabbing Hartley’s upper arm. “Lets get you back to your cell before Joe shoots you.”

Hartley allowed himself to be tugged along, but turned to glare at Joe over his shoulder. _And_ quirk an eyebrow at the man. It wouldn’t do to piss him off too much.

“Caitlin had to run out and get food for the inmates, so, that’ll be here shortly,” Cisco was saying, and classical music started playing in the control room again.

Hartley rolled his eyes. “If you invested in doors, that might help block out my hearing.”

Cisco shrugged. “We thought about it, but, with the Flash zipping in and out of the place, and around the lab? Just a disaster waiting to happen.”

Hartley hadn’t considered that. “Fair enough,” he murmured, and Cisco threw him a look.

“You feeling okay?” he asked.

Hartley stared at him, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps if the Flash could master the difficult challenge of _doorknobs,_ ” he said, slightly mockingly, “maybe you could invest in some doors.”

“That’s better.”

By the time the magnetic cuffs were removed from Hartley’s arms and legs, Caitlin was wheeling a cart down the pipeline.

“Good! I caught you,” she said, and grabbed a cardboard container off the top of the cart, which was full of fast-food bags and boxes, as well as one of the white cloth bags from below. “Thai food and pajamas.”

“Your hospitality is amazing,” Hartley said, taking the food and the clothes bag.

Caitlin just rolled her eyes at him. Then her eyes widened, and she pulled out a white candy wrapper from her pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, and dropped it on top of Hartley’s food box. “The complimentary gum from the Thai place.”

Hartley wasn’t too fond of the gum, and he was about to say so when an idea struck him. “Thank you,” he said, instead, and stepped into his cell. The door closed, and Cisco and Caitlin hesitated for a moment. Hartley held the box closer to his chest, feeling awkward. “What?”

“We want to thank you,” Caitlin said, when Cisco didn’t seem forthcoming. “I know you didn’t actually _mean_ to help us with Peek-A-Boo, but, you did.”

Hartley... didn’t know what to do with that. So he stood there, blinking. “I only insulted you,” he said, feeling entirely off-kilter.

Cisco slowly nodded, eyebrows rising. “But it was the helpful sort of insult, so, thanks.”

Hartley swallowed. “I’ll,” he hesitated for a moment, “try to do so more often, then.”

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Go to sleep.”

Caitlin just smiled a little. “Good night, Hartley.”

“Until tomorrow,” Hartley said.

His cell was moved back to the pipeline wall, and Hartley sat in the corner of his cell, eating his Thai food and watching as the other cells were moved, one by one, to the entryway. Hartley wasn’t sure how the others were given their food, but he doubted it was by hand.

Especially the guy who turned into a poisonous gas.

Once the pipeline entry was closed, and the lights in the facility dimmed, Hartley took a moment to consider the gum Caitlin had brought him. It was flavored like old mint, and had a dusty aftertaste. It stayed sticky for _hours,_ and it stuck like cement after it had dried out a little. With a little shrug, Hartley tore open the wrapper and popped it into his mouth.

There was a foolish plan hatching in Hartley’s brain, but, foolish was all he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bésame el culo  
> \- Spanish; _Kiss my ass_
> 
> Tirate a un pozo  
> \- Spanish; _Go throw yourself in a hole_


	3. The Nuclear Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene occurs the morning after Stein injures his university friend, Doctor Quentin Quale.
> 
> Thank you everyone for the support you've shown this fic. Be prepared for comic-levels of science bullcrap! 8D

Hartley had been chewing on this gum for _hours._

He’d taken care not to abuse his Thai privilege over the past few days, waiting until last night before asking for it a second time. (Also, Thai food was _hell_ on the digestive system, and the refitted cells didn’t actually _have_ toilets in them. The cells were moved and connected to another cell that had been converted into a bathroom, with a toilet, sink, and shower all in the small box.)

And now his jaw felt like it was dislocated. But he had _gum._

He’d been concerned about swallowing or spitting the thing out while he slept, propped up against the far corner of his cell, but he’d had it when he woke up that morning, and it’d been a gross, flavorless reminder that Hartley now actually had a plan.

In the lab, Hartley paid only half-attention to his sonic gloves, since they were almost completely fixed. The electron guns were fully functional on both, and the amplifiers were improved beyond what Hartley could have done _without_ STAR Labs’s stock. The right glove had been broken worse than the left－unsurprising, since that one had more parts to it, to hold flash drives and store frequencies.

All that the left glove needed was finishing the last bit of wiring and soldering, and it would be functional.

The rest of Hartley’s attention was on where Wells was lurking. The man was still in his wheelchair, even though they both knew that he didn’t need it: the risk of the Flash buzzing in and _seeing_ his beloved mentor walking around was too great. Wells was working at one of the workstations, keeping Hartley in sight.

Hartley measured out the wires he needed for his glove－each about three inches long－and cut them. He picked one up and moved it over to his glove, and held it over where he’d need to solder it in place. His brow furrowed, and pulled on the wire as if to stretch it.

And then he scowled, throwing the wire across the lab. In a rather uncharacteristic move, Hartley shoved the other wires off the workstation (and snatched a few between his fingers, tucking them up his sleeve) and then angrily pulled out the coiled wire again.

“Problems, Mister Rathaway?”

Wells’s voice carried across the lab, and Hartley looked up. He didn’t have to force the scowl onto his face－it came naturally. “No,” he snapped, and went back to the wire. Honestly, he was beginning to get a headache from the micro-chewing he was doing, but that had nothing to do with his errors.

Or everything.

He pulled the wire to the proper length, then cut what he _actually_ needed for his gloves.

And then he sneezed into his hand.

(And spit half his gum into his palm, pulling two wires from his sleeve and wrapping the gum around them.)

“Rough morning?” Wells mocked.

Hartley sneered at his work, while reaching under his workstation and sticking the piece of gum-and-wire to it. “Perhaps if we were given blankets,” he began, but then Wells’s phone started ringing.

Wells glanced down at his phone before glaring Hartley’s way. He pulled it to his ear. “Hartley’s in the room,” he said, first-thing. Then, in a gentler tone, continued, “What’s going on?”

 _“Oh, uh,”_ the Flash’s voice stuttered at the other end of the line, and went quiet for a moment. _“Caitlin, Hartley’s there so.”_ Then his tone became louder again. _“Uh, anyway, did you catch the news? Ronnie put someone in the hospital early this morning.”_

That had Hartley craning his head around, and Wells was already moving to a keyboard. He quickly typed a few things and the many monitors circling the control room came to life, displaying local news networks. A few more keystrokes, and there was audio piping through, too.

“－And his head was on _fire,_ ” a young brunette woman said, eyes wide and red-rimmed. To the right of her face, there was a video playing of paramedics wheeling someone onto the street in a gurney, a blanket lying over the top of him. The woman continued, “I-I heard Doctor Quale _screaming,_ and-and I just _ran._ ”

The young woman was replaced by another woman, blonde and older. “Although accounts of the Burning Man’s involvement have gone viral online,” she said, and a black-and-white image of Ronnie’s face, aflame, appeared next to hers, “officials have consistently denied his existence as a hoax, and his actions as those of a serial arsonist. However, with the recent confirmation that the Flash, a real _super-human,_ is running through Central City’s streets, can we truly be so quick to deny this?”

Wells’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing. “Come to STAR Labs. Are Cisco and Caitlin still with you?”

_“Caitlin is. Cisco had to go help a friend with something.”_

Wells frowned, and then turned his chair to face Hartley. Hartley sighed and set his wire cutters down.

“Then bring her along,” Wells said. “I’ll put Hartley back into his cell, and－”

 _“That’s okay, Doctor Wells!”_ the Flash said quickly. _“I’ll just zip in and put the suit on. Besides, he seems to know more about what Doctor Stein was studying than either Caitlin or I do.”_

Hartley raised his eyebrows, and Wells’s expression went sour.

“Good point,” Wells said, and Hartley could see his free hand tightening on the arm of his wheelchair. The leather squeaked. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Wells hung up and aggressively typed on the keyboard, switching the televisions to the same screen. He began to pull up various articles about the Burning Man, and Hartley looked at his workstation.

He wondered if he could finish the left glove before the Flash got there with Caitlin.

The answer, it turned out, was _yes._ The left glove was finished, but the right glove was still missing a few more wires, and Hartley wanted to upgrade the cooling system. The most unfortunate thing, however, was the right glove held the frequency he’d used to fend off the dementor. And with the wires still damaged, he couldn’t get to the data.

_C’est la vie._

Hartley set the soldering gun aside as the the Flash finished whipping through the room, leaving Caitlin a little wind-blown by the doors. Then he stood in his red-leather glory at the far end of the control room, by one of the screens.

“So,” the Flash said, “got anything?”

“Well,” Wells began, from the center workstation, “it appears letting Ronnie roam free is no longer an option.”

Hartley walked from the small office to the control room as Caitlin stared at the images on the screens. Accounts of the Burning Man, and the devastation that followed him, were posted in several articles. “But, it’s not Ronnie. Not anymore.” She cringed, her heart rate increasing. “Now it’s _Martin Stein_ puppeteering his... his body around.”

“Actually,” Hartley said, drawing Caitlin’s attention, “it’s probably not all Stein, either.”

The Flash narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

Hartley waved a hand by his shoulder. “From everything I gathered while looking him up, Martin Stein is a pacifist,” he said, and leaned back against the glass wall to his work area. “He protested against the Vietnam War, and turns down any military contracts that come his way.”

Caitlin turned around, looking at the screens again. “Then why is he hurting people _now?_ ”

“Lack of control?” Wells suggested. He gestured at the Flash. “You struggled to control your speed at first. Miss San Souci had limited control over her abilities.” The Flash’s heart rate spiked at the mention of the name, which made Hartley glance at him. The Flash's eyes had fallen to the floor, and Wells continued. “Perhaps _he_ needs training. It would explain his victim.”

“Why?” Caitlin asked, frowning. “Who was it?”

Wells typed a little, and the screens suddenly showed an elderly, balding man. “Doctor Quentin Quale,” Wells replied. “A former classmate and colleague of Martin Stein. It’s possible that Professor Stein went to see him in hopes of understanding what was happening, but...”

“He lost control,” the Flash muttered, walking around to look at the picture better. He turned his head to look back at Wells. “So, what’s our next step?”

Wells leaned forward. “We get ahead of him. Find out where he’s going next.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow. “Which would be, where?” he asked. Wells glowered at him, and Hartley looked away after a moment.

“As I was saying,” Wells continued. “Stein visited Caitlin on one occasion, and now Professor Quake. There’s a good chance that he has or will visit his wife.”

“He’s married?” the Flash asked. Then he sighed, running a hand over his eyes. “I don’t even know what this guy looks like.”

More typing, and then a black and white image of Martin Stein popped up. He was an older gentleman, flat white hair parted to the side, nothing particularly interesting about him, which was why the Flash’s pulse jumping so suddenly _was._

“I’ve seen him before,” the Flash said, walking closer to the image.

“Really?” Caitlin asked, brow furrowing. She shot Hartley a glance.

Hartley shook his head. “I’d known of him before I ran into him outside, but we’d never met face-to-face before then.”

“How do you know him?” Caitlin asked, turning back to the Flash.

The Flash shook his head. “He was on the train with me, the day the particle accelerator exploded.”

That had Wells raising his eyebrows. “He lives in Central City.”

“His work didn’t,” Hartley offered. When the others turned to look at him, he spread his hands. “That _something_ he was holding when the dark matter hit him? He must’ve brought it with him on the train.”

Caitlin turned back around. “So,” she began, voice a little shaky, “we’re going to visit his wife first?”

“No,” Wells said, and that had Caitlin frowning at him. Wells raised his eyebrows. “We’re going to get trackers from the storeroom first. I don’t care how fast you heal, Flash,” he said, turning to look at the scarlet speedster, “I don’t want you fighting with Stein if you can help it.”

The Flash nodded. “Plant tracker, avoid being burnt to a crisp,” he said, a little glib. “Got it.”

Hartley hesitated for a moment. “Will the trackers be able to survive the heat?” he asked. “Their batteries would explode.”

Wells didn’t even look at him, moving away from the central control panel and towards the exit. “Cisco made these to track the Flash, Mister Rathaway,” he drawled, and continued down the circular hallway.

Hartley rolled his eyes. “Well, if _Mister Ramon_ made them...” he droned. _‘Then they would be perfect.’_

Caitlin sighed. The Flash frowned at Hartley, but Hartley ignored him. He was just plotting how to get into the storeroom himself when Wells came back, holding a square, metal container. It clanked like it was full of bottle caps as he wheeled into the control room.

“Doctor Snow,” Wells began, and Caitlin snapped her full attention onto the man, and then winced when she saw the box. “Do you mind telling me why there are about _forty_ trackers in here?”

“Well,” Caitlin began, biting at her lip. “Cisco gets... bored, during quiet patrol nights.”

Wells blinked. “So he builds spare trackers.”

Caitlin smiled, spreading her hands. “You can always use more trackers.” Then she paused. “Or so Cisco claims.”

Wells sighed, and moved over a workstation. “Hopefully some of these can be retrofitted to be pinned instead of stuck,” he muttered, and then looked over at Hartley. “You can check the batteries, since you were so concerned, Mister Rathaway.”

Hartley scowled at him, clenching his jaw to keep any hint of the smile that wanted to break free. The half of gum he had left was squeezed tightly between his aching teeth. “But I thought Cisco made them,” he grumbled, only mostly for show, and took the palm-sized device Caitlin handed him, which was used to check the minuscule lithium ion batteries.

The trackers were generally well-made, although some were only half-done. To Hartley’s delight, some, when opened, didn’t have batteries at all.

“He’d run out of batteries first,” Caitlin explained as she tried to see if the square shape of Cisco’s trackers could be rigged onto the circular base of the pin. “He’d build more without them, and then add batteries to those ones first on the next night. Of course, then he’d have less batteries and more trackers without them as time went on.”

“Amazing,” Hartley said, testing a fingertip-sized battery while dropping a different one down the right sleeve of his hoodie.

“Don’t be a jerk,” the Flash grumbled. He was speedily replacing the good batteries that Hartley discovered (and didn’t keep for himself) into the trackers.

The three of them were sitting around a square workstation, with Caitlin across from Hartley and the Flash to his left. Wells had gone to call Stein’s wife about visiting.

“Don’t ask that of him,” Caitlin said, her focus on the tracker. “That’s half his personality.”

“Oh, the comedy,” Hartley snipped. He could feel the two batteries resting against his elbow. “You should start doing stand-up.”

Caitlin froze, eyes going wide. The Flash snickered, and then started humming one of the songs from Grease.

“Bwuah－” Caitlin blurted, some strange noise that had the Flash sputtering with laughter. She blushed, but a smile was creaking around the corners of her mouth, and then gasped. “Ha! I did it!” she declared, and held up the tracker. It looked a little odd, since the round back was slightly larger than the square base, but, she _had_ done it.

Wells chose that moment to come back into the lab. “Excellent,” he said. “Do you have enough parts to make six?” he asked, wheeling over to the open spot at the workstation. “I want two for each of us.”

The Flash did a blurred count of what they’d collected. “We’ve got enough for fifteen, really.”

“Six will do,” Wells said, smiling slightly. He turned to Caitlin. “Could you escort Mister Rathaway to his cell?”

“Of course,” she said, rising from her seat.

Hartley lingered in his for a moment. “I left my soldering gun out to cool,” he said. “I’ll have to put that away first.”

Caitlin blinked at him. “That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll show the Flash how to put the pieces together.”

Hartley nodded, rising to his feet, and then walked into the lab space where his workstation was. He let his arms hang loose, and felt the two tiny batteries fall into his curled fingers.

He gingerly put his soldering gun away, and then bent down to pick up the wires he’d shoved off his desk earlier. While kneeling, and very mindful of the camera, he let the last half of gum drop out of his mouth and into his hand, where he quickly shoved the flat, tiny batteries into it. On his way up, he reached behind himself and stuck the gum under his workstation.

And that was that. He had all the pieces he needed to make two more e-bombs. The fact was, Hartley’s hearing dampeners were made to be explosive from the ground up. Even the basic ones Cisco had made, copied off Hartley’s design, were ready to be primed. All they needed was more power, and a wire jammed into the right spot to trigger the it.

The same technology that canceled out frequencies to protect his ears, also fueled the destruction they could cause.

“I’m ready,” Hartley said, setting the stray wires next to his gloves. The last bit of trouble he’d have to work around was getting them into his cell.

“Okay,” Caitlin said, and gently grasped his upper arm and led him towards the pipeline. “Any request for dinner tonight?” she asked, looking over at Hartley. “There’s a chance we could be out late, so I’ll have to tell Cisco.”

Hartley felt odd about her question, about her tone, about her soft touch on his arm. “I think I’ll have soup tonight,” he finally said, thinking of his aching jaw.

Caitlin frowned. “Doctor Wells said you’d complained about not having blankets,” she began. “Do you think you’re getting sick?”

Hartley was at a loss for a moment. “Well, blankets wouldn’t be turned away,” he said.

Caitlin nodded. “I’ll talk to Doctor Wells about it.”

“I wish you luck,” he said. He found he meant it for more than discussing blankets with Wells. From the small smile he got in return, Caitlin understood that, too.

They arrived at the pipeline door, and Hartley was divested of his magnetic cuffs. Caitlin waved once, and then sent Hartley on his way. He half-listened as Caitlin called into the other cells, getting their meal requests. He rubbed at his arms, his legs, where the cuffs rested everyday.

 _‘Just a little longer,’_ he told himself.

That night, when Cisco quickly stopped by to deal with the metas’ needs, he also brought blankets and pillows.

 

* * *

 

“How did it go?” Hartley asked the next morning, sitting up from the nest he’d made. A tired-looking Caitlin had pulled his cell to the pipeline doors, the cart of food behind her. Their clothes for the day were left in the bathroom cell. Hartley gestured to the pillow and blankets. “Also, thanks.”

Caitlin smiled, which only made her look even more tired. “I’m glad I was able to help,” she said, and looked at the cell. “I wish we could do more, but...”

Hartley clenched his jaw briefly, and said nothing. The boxes were awful. Too small, no comfort. They weren’t designed to hold humans. He was lucky enough to be able to get out, stretch his legs.

Hartley was already doing more push-ups and squats than ever.

“So,” he said, looking away from her briefly. “What’s my itinerary?”

Caitlin sighed, opening his cell doors. “The tracker we put on Ronnie worked,” she said, grabbing a white paper bag from the cart, “but we’re leaving to get Professor Stein’s wife, and then Stein himself.”

Hartley nodded, and took the food sack Caitlin handed to him. “So I’m stuck in here for the morning.” More squats then. Perhaps some push-ups. If he felt truly ambitious, maybe he’d do some lunges.

“Hopefully not too long,” Caitlin said, with another smile.

Hartley nodded, stepping back, and the cell door closed. Hopefully not.

 

* * *

 

After Hartley bathed and changed, after working out as well as he could in the tiny space, it was still hours before he heard the rumblings of someone coming towards the pipeline. He was lying on the flat floor, turtleneck pulled over his mouth and the hood of his jacket pulled over his eyes, and stayed there even as the cell moved. He heard the pipeline door open, and there was a stunned silence from the Flash standing beyond the glass doors.

“Uh, Hartley?” the Flash called. “You okay?”

“Do we get Netflix here?” Hartley asked, slightly muffled, arms splayed out across the floor. “Or maybe I can bargain for a GameBoy.”

“No to the first,” the Flash said, sounding amused, and a little relieved? “And I don’t even know where to get a GameBoy these days.”

Hartley sighed, pulling his turtleneck down, and rolled his head. He looked over at the Flash with one eye, peaking through the roll of his hoodie. “Did you get him?” he asked.

The Flash smiled. “We did,” he said, and lifted his hands up, showing Hartley’s magnetic cuffs. “Ready to go?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Hartley drawled, rolling to his feet as the glass doors opened.

He still didn’t know how he was going to get _out,_ though.

The Flash walked him down the hallway, explaining as he went. “So, you were right,” he said. “Ronnie _is_ in there, somewhere.” The Flash gestured at his head. “And it seems like they’re both still... themselves.” Hartley raised an eyebrow at him, and the Flash shrugged. “Stein referred to Ronnie as being there, being able to hear him. So.”

Hartley nodded. Hearing voices could certainly excuse his outbursts. That sort of mental merger couldn’t have been _clean._ “I assume we’re going to try to separate them.”

The Flash nodded. “Right now we’re medicating him. Them.” He shook his head. “Either way, once Caitlin does the medical check-up on _them,_ then we’ll see what we can do.”

Hartley nodded, and scanned the control room as they entered. Caitlin was staring at her tablet, standing in the center of the room. Wells was looking at the monitors at the far left workstation. A third heartbeat, just a bit faster than normal, but slower than the Flash’s, was off in the labs to the right. Hartley glanced that way first, and then looked to Caitlin.

Caitlin’s eyes were wide, and she looked a little stunned. “He’s getting changed, and washed,” she said. She swallowed heavily. “He was living under a bridge.”

Hartley walked further into the lab, going to one of the right-most screens along the wall, as far from Wells as he could get. “A little loud, but hardly the worst place he could have picked,” Hartley said, offhandedly. Caitlin frowned at him, eyes narrowing, and walked past him. She set her tablet down a little too hard and then turned to Wells, who was moving to the center station.

“So,” she began, briskly, “do we have a plan for separating them?”

Hartley turned around, crossing his arms. “If their atomic parts are still vibrating at different frequencies, we could isolate them from each other.”

Wells frowned at him. “Simply separating them wouldn’t mean they would reform,” he said, and frowned at the monitors in front of him. “No, Doctor Stein believes that nuclear fission is the key to separating them.”

Hartley furrowed his brow. “But that runs the risk of creating radiation, and the number of atoms that would have to be affected－”

Hartley stopped as footsteps from the right lab came closer, and he turned his head.

“Hartley?” Caitlin asked. “What－”

A dead quiet settled over the lab, and Caitlin’s heart thundered. Even Wells’s heart jumped as Ronnie－no, Stein, who was wearing Ronnie’s face－walked through the doorway and into the control room.

Stein looked at each of them briefly, Ronnie’s eyes distant and cool and unfamiliar, before his expression shifted, anger furrowing his brows. “I don’t suppose,” he began, lifting his chin, “I need to point out that you’re all staring?”

Caitlin dropped her gaze, heart rate spiking again. The Flash also found something else to look at. Hartley leaned back against the wall and raised an eyebrow.

“Our apologies,” Wells said, after a moment.

Stein glanced Hartley’s way again, eyes narrowed. Perhaps the part that was Ronnie recognized him, and recognized that he was _different_ somehow. Hartley could just imagine: _‘Is_ he _different, or is my memory at fault?’_

“I,” Stein started, head turning slightly. “I remember you. Hartley Rathaway?”

That had Hartley raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed,” he said. “Mister Raymond and I didn’t spend much free time together.” He glanced at Caitlin. “We mostly spoke through Doctor Snow.”

Stein blinked slowly. “Cait complained about you a lot.”

That startled a bark of laughter out of Hartley, and Caitlin rushed forward, face growing pink. “Doctor Snow, if you would, _please,_ ” she said to Stein, drawing his attention to her.

He met her gaze, and then nodded. “Do I have you to thank for my mind feeling clearer than it has since... well, since the accident?”

Caitlin nodded, settling into her work-persona, built to bury her feelings behind. “It’s the same sort of treatment for those suffering with dissociative identity disorders. We hoped it would... ease your mental states.”

Stein nodded again. “It has. Thank you, Doctor Snow.”

“I would like to run some tests,” Caitlin said, and it would have been clinical except for the light tremor in her voice.

“Of course, Doctor,” Stein replied, and followed as she led him past Hartley’s workstation and towards another leftward lab.

“The next order of business,” Wells began, but then a cellphone began to buzz from a bag in the corner of the room.

The Flash winced. “Uh, sorry,” he said, and buzzed over to it before disappearing in a blur.

Which left Hartley and Wells, once again alone.

“You do realize,” Hartley began, glancing only briefly at Wells before looking at one of the other screens, “that the best person to help with this problem is, in fact, Doctor Stein?”

Wells frowned back at him. “Yes, but I fear his judgment isn’t exactly _trustworthy_ at the moment.”

Hartley leveled Wells a bland look. “My knowledge on Nuclear Fission and Fusion may be above the normal persons’－more than simply _above_ －” at this, Wells rolled his eyes, “but, what Doctor Stein has managed to accomplish here?” Hartley shook his head. “That is beyond me.”

The Flash buzzed back into the lab, looking a little flustered. “Can you spare me for, like, ten minutes?” he asked, looking between Wells and Hartley.

Wells was glowering at Hartley, but turned to the Flash and nodded. “Personal issues?”

The Flash groaned. “Dating is really hard,” was all he offered, and buzzed around the lab. The suit reappeared in its display, and he was gone.

Hartley stared at Wells for a moment. “And you chose him over me,” he uttered, earning another glare. To be honest, the bitterness of that had faded the moment Wells had threatened him in his cell. Instead, Hartley felt only a sort of pity for the Flash, Cisco, and Caitlin. Yes, Wells had tossed him aside, but now he _knew better._

It was going to be so much worse for them.

A monitor in front of the observation room Caitlin had taken Stein let out a beep, and Wells was immediately moving towards it. Hartley hung back, letting the man pass, before stepping up the ramp.

Wells’s expression was grim.

“That bad?” Hartely drawled, earning a dark look.

Wells typed onto the keyboard. “See for yourself,” he said, and the results were suddenly displayed on the screen behind Hartley.

And Hartley saw. He stepped closer to the screen. “His rising temperature－”

“Yes,” Wells said. “An exothermic reaction, caused by－”

“－Like an infection,” Hartley said. His mind was working. “Ronnie is rejecting Stein’s molecules at an atomic level.” He needed write. He marched across the room and grabbed the rolling dry erase board and pulled it closer to the screens. He scribbled across the clear surface in sharp, concise strokes.

Wells moved closer. “If his temperature continues to rise－”

“－The explosion that injured Quale wasn’t a _loss of control,_ ” Hartley hissed. “It was another symptom.”

Hartley could hear the Flash return, but he didn’t bother to look.

“The fight with the Flash must’ve destabilized the Firestorm Matrix,” Wells said, and wheeled in beside Hartley.

“Can we let off the energy safely?” Hartley asked, looking from the screen to his board. “Slowly bring down his temperature. Give us time?”

Wordlessly, Hartley handed the marker to Wells and stepped back. Wells instantly began to write across the lower portion of the board.

“Call Caitlin in here,” Wells said, pulling his hand back from the board.

Hartley’s heart raced.

 _‘No no no,’_ he thought, plucking the marker from Wells’s grip and running through the calculations himself. _‘No no no, not another one.’_

“Caitlin, can you come out here?” the Flash called, awkwardly, into the intercom. The feedback made Hartley cringe, but he crossed out a line and continued on.

“Give,” Wells said, brisk, and Hartley dropped the marker into his hand. He stepped back, looking at the wild equations, running a hand over his mouth.

 _‘I can fix this,’_ he thought. _‘I can fix this.’_

The conversation behind the door that Hartley had been ignoring ended, and he heard Caitlin coming. He heard her hesitate in the doorway, and then step through. “This is a sight I never thought I’d see again,” she said.

Hartley said nothing, and was shocked by a thought. “This isn’t going to work,” he said, moving to wipe out his half of the board with his sleeve. Wells raised his hand to stop him.

“Leave it,” Wells said, and Hartley finally looked away from the board to glare at him.

“You’re not doing this,” he snarled, and Wells’s head snapped up to glare back.

The lab door opened again. “That’s not freaky at all－ _okay,_ ” Cisco said, slowly. “There’s _a lot_ of freaky stuff happening right now.”

“Can someone explain what’s going on?” the Flash finally asked.

Wells narrowed his eyes at Hartley. Hartley, hands clenching into fists, stepped back from the dry erase board. Wells then turned to look at Caitlin, Cisco, and the Flash, all crowding in the small area between the exam room doorway and the ramp to the control room.

“Ronnie’s body,” he began, gesturing to the monitors in front of the observation window, or those behind the dry erase board, “is rejecting Martin Stein’s atoms.”

“The result,” Hartley continued, “is fission, which is causing Ronnie’s body to increase in temperature.”

“And his temperature,” Wells said, “is further destabilizing the Firestorm Matrix, which is causing yet _more fission._ ”

Caitlin had turned almost grey as they spoke. “So,” she started, quiet, “what does that _mean?_ ”

Hartley exhaled. “That Ronnie’s body will go nuclear once it reaches a certain temperature.”

Caitlin sucked in a deep breath, and Cisco shook his head. The Flash spread his hands.

“So what do we do?” he asked, and then gestured to the board. “You two were writing _something._ ”

Hartley was already shaking his head. “It’s not going to work,” he said, with a glare to Wells.

Wells just gave him a sad look back, one that Hartley _almost_ believed. “It’s the only thing that can be done _safely._ ”

“ _What?!_ ” Caitlin shouted, and Hartley winced at the noise. Her eyes were wide and darted between the two of them. “Explain it to me.”

“We could separate them, and that would be enough to prevent an explosion,” Well started.

Hartley interrupted. “But only if, at the time of separation, Ronnie’s core temperature was dropped to as close to absolute zero as possible.”

Cisco stared. “But... but that would _kill them._ ”

“Yes,” Wells said, softly. “It would.”

“And that’s why it’s _not going to work,_ ” Hartley ground out.

“Any attempt to separate them could cause the same amount of nuclear fission to occur, Mister Rathaway,” Wells snapped, hands tightening on the arms of his wheelchair. “He could still cause a massive nuclear explosion if we were to try _any_ other method.” He turned to look at the others once more. “Large enough to level Central City.”

Caitlin shook her head. Her heart was racing. “You want to _kill Ronnie?_ ”

Wells frowned. “No,” he said to her, voice softening. “No, I don’t _want to._ But, the other options...”

Cisco stepped forward, heart pounding, shaking his head. “It’s not just Ronnie. It’s Stein, too. That’s _two people,_ Doctor Wells!”

“It’s two people,” Wells began, “compared to _millions._ ” He shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted. “And, if they both knew the options, Ronnie and Doctor Stein, I’m sure they’d agree with me.”

The Flash leaned against the glass wall, looking to the floor. Cisco was blinking, stunned.

“How long do they have?” Caitlin asked. Her tone was calm.

“Hours,” Hartley and Wells said in unison.

“I didn’t miss this,” Cisco said, sounding dazed.

Caitlin nodded to herself, looking at the floor. Then she marched forward, standing in front of Wells and Hartley, mouth pinched. She gestured to the walls. “Together, you two built this whole place,” she said, voice quiet. “You designed something _spectacular._ You made what should have been the future _today._ ” Her eyes were wide, and there were no tears. “You have hours to fix this _one thing,_ ” she said. “So do it.”

But they’d failed the last time. Hartley’s heart was pounding, and he turned to Wells, who was staring straight at Caitlin. Hartley wondered if that’s what _his_ face had looked like, when he’d confronted Wells with the possibility the accelerator could explode. Would Wells throw Caitlin out, now, too?

Or maybe there was room for her in the cell next to Hartley’s.

Either way, Caitlin didn’t wait. She instead spun around on her heel, head held high, and and marched out of the control center.

Wells sat there for a moment, under the watchful eyes of Hartley, Cisco, and the Flash. Finally, Hartley frowned. “I have to try,” he said, frankly.

Then Wells moved. Away from them, down the ramp and back to the control room. And then he left that, too, heading down the hall opposite that Caitlin had. Cisco stared after him, betrayal across his face (and Hartley could recognize it anywhere), before he jogged down the ramp and after Wells.

The Flash stared after him before, turning to Hartley, mouth opening slightly. “I－I guess I’ll go see how Stein is doing,” he said, and walked－slowly, like a normal human－through the door.

Hartley stood alone for the first time in weeks outside his cell. He could hear Wells moving down the hall. He could hear Cisco’s rapid breathing. He could hear Stein and the Flash talking about Einstein and pretty girls and fast cars.

Hartley _hated these walls._

He swung around, grabbing his sleeve and wiping the dry erase board clean. He couldn’t stop it before, he didn’t stop it before, but he _could_ stop this.

He couldn’t let more people die because of this thing he’d made.

If dropping the temperature wouldn’t work, then the answer could be increasing it.

Or, not the temperature, but the energy.

The cells were working harder to increase energy, raising the temperature, and then causing nuclear fission, which further increased the temperature.

The increased temperature made it easier to make energy, making nuclear fission happen faster, increasing temperature－

Eventually the only outcome was the explosive release of all the energy at once, as a nuclear fission blast.

If they could make a device to flood Ronnie’s body with energy, into every atom of his body, all at once, that could prevent the atoms from creating nuclear fission themselves, essentially recreate the moment when their atoms merged together....

The outcome would still be explosive, and hot. But the possibility of there being nuclear fallout was greatly decreased.

Far less of a chance than the particle accelerator had of exploding.

Hartley stepped away from the board, eyes flicking over the math. It was sound－of course it was－but it was only half the problem. It was a theoretical device. Where would the energy come from? How to move it evenly through the cells? How would they build it?

Time was not on their side.

Hartley pulled his glasses off, running a hand over his face.

“I didn’t understand why you’d kept digging,” Caitlin said behind Hartley, and Hartley _jumped._

He hadn’t been snuck up on in months, his hearing was too good, and during his stay at STAR Labs, his paranoia for Wells usually kept him hyper-aware. He’d gotten so focused on the problem, he’d... forgotten everything else. As Hartley tried to recover, Caitlin walked up the small ramp and approached the dry erase board. She looked at it, brow furrowed.

“It bothered me a little,” she continued, “that you, of all people, would look into a man’s disappearance. Even a man like Doctor Stein.” She turned and looked at Hartley. “It’s because of the explosion, isn’t it. You blame yourself.”

Hartley couldn’t breathe. The pounding of his heart was deafening in his ears. But he could still hear Caitlin over the roar.

“Hartley,” she began, softly, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an _accident._ No one could have prevented it.”

“I could have,” Hartley managed to rasp. “I should have done more. I could have－”

“No, Hartley,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “No, you couldn’t have. You’re not God.”

He opened his mouth, because of _course_ he wasn’t God. This wasn’t ego. It was truth. He’d known the danger. He’d tried to call attention to it, and allowed himself to be silenced.

The purr of a motor reached Hartley’s ears.

And then, once again, Hartley fell quiet.

Wells came into the central lab, and his eyes instantly found Hartley and Caitlin. “I think I have something,” he said, and then his eyes focused on the board behind Hartley. He gave them a small smile. “It seems I’m not the only one.”

“What?” Caitlin said, spinning around. “What did you find?”

Wells looked around the lab. “Where’s Cisco?”

“Here!” Cisco called, jogging into the lab, heart rate elevated. “What’s－whoa, Hartley.”

Hartley glanced back at the dry erase board. “It’s a theory, but, building it－”

“That I can help with,” Wells said, and held up a small metal cube, clutched between his fingers.

Cisco walked over to him and gingerly took it. Wells, wincing, allowed it. “What is it?” Cisco asked.

Wells sighed. “It was part of a device I was using, to try and cure meta-humans. I never got it to work, but, if I reconfigure it and the system I was using to flood their bodies with energy－”

Hartley turned around, staring at the dry erase board. “We could save them.”

Caitlin collapsed into the nearest chair, closing her eyes and sucking in shaking breaths.

Cisco nodded, skipping back a few steps. “I’ll get Doctor Stein,” he said, and then disappeared back through the doorway.

Wells turned and looked at Hartley, raising an eyebrow. “Well, Mister Rathaway?” he said. “Shall we?”

Hartley hesitated, just for a second. “Ab honesto virum bonum nihil deterret,” he said, and grabbed the dry erase board and led it towards Wells.

Wells smiled wide. “Et esne bonum?” he asked.

“Videbimus,” Hartley replied, and rolled his shoulders.

The Flash returned before Cisco did, buzzing through the lab and reappearing in scarlet glory beside the workstation in the center of the control room. He raised his eyebrows. “You two’ve been busy,” he said.

Hartley raised his eyes and stared at him. “With your speed, we could have finished this by now,” he grumbled. He carefully bound the wires up and pulled them in place around the quantum splicer’s circular design.

That had the Flash perking up. “So you’ve figured it out?” he asked.

“For the most part,” Wells said, scribbling something onto the board behind Hartley. “We’ve never made anything like this before, and we have no time to test it.”

Hartley frowned, tilting his head. He heard footsteps coming. Only a single set. “It’d be easier with Doctor Stein,” he said, raising his head, and watched as Cisco stormed into the lab.

“That’d make a lot of things easier,” Cisco snapped, and then looked around the room. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Wells asked, and Hartley froze. “What do you mean gone?”

Cisco threw his arms out. “As in not here?”

The Flash groaned, running a hand over his masked face. “Doctor Stein knew that he was moving towards going nuclear,” he said.

Caitlin gasped. “Oh, no,” she whispered. She was immediately on the nearest keyboard, typing away.

Hartley let out a polyglot’s delight of swear words, and swung back to the quantum splicer.

“Cisco!” Wells barked, and suddenly Hartley had Wells on one side of him, holding a wire, while Cisco crammed in on the other. “Directions are on the board.”

“Got it,” Cisco said, picking up the soldering gun and helping Hartley put the wires in place.

The Flash took to pacing as only the Flash could, bouncing from Caitlin to their workstation. Eventually, Wells gave him several of the arms of the quantum splicer to assemble, which kept him out of their hair for thirty or so minutes.

And then, by some miracle of science, they’d finished it.

“Time,” Cisco called.

The Flash looked over at the screens, each displaying a countdown timer. “Twenty minutes and nineteen seconds.”

Caitlin let out an annoyed growl. “I can’t find him,” she hissed.

“On it!” Cisco called, and bound to her side.

Hartley was already walking away from the workstation, work finished. He collapsed into a different chair, tension strung up in every cell of his body.

“He’d be someplace uninhabited,” Wells called, turning the quantum splicer over in his hands, checking it.

Cisco sucked in a breath. “The Badlands,” he said. There was more rapid-tapping of keys, then; “Found him! Thirty miles outside of Central City, right smack-dab in the center of the Badlands.”

“Minimum safe distance,” Wells said. He looked up. “He’s sacrificing himself.”

The Flash walked forward. “Well, he doesn’t have to,” he said, glancing at the countdown. Eighteen minutes. “Give me the quantum splicer and－”

Caitlin was already running around him, and snatching the device from Wells’s hand. “I’ve got it,” she said, turning to the Flash. She already had on her coat. “And you’ll get me.”

“What?” Cisco blurted, at the same moment both Wells and the Flash said, “No.”

Caitlin was unmoved. “You don’t know how this works,” she said.

“Cisco－” the Flash started.

Caitlin gestured at the timer. Seventeen minutes. “We don’t have the _time._ ”

The Flash sent Wells a helpless look. Wells grit his teeth. “Fine,” he said.

Hartley sat forward. “Remember,” he said, and the Flash turned his way, “there’s still likely to be an explosion, even if the device works. Ronnie’s body has built up a lot of energy.”

“So,” Wells continued, “put the device on him, Caitlin, and then _get out of there._ ”

With that said, the Flash nodded, scooped up Caitlin, and was gone.

And then, they waited.

After nearly two hours of constant thinking, constant action, the sudden _nothing_ was torture. Hartley closed his eyes and leaned his head back, unwilling and unable to watch the time count down any more.

Then came the odd beep that had Cisco’s heart rate jumping.

“What’s wrong?” Hartley found himself asking, head snapping forward.

Cisco blinked first at the monitor in front of him, then at Hartley, then at Wells. Then he shook his head. “Nothing,” Cisco said, jumping to his feet as he shut off the alarm. “Just a comm error. I’ll be right back.”

He took off, running until even Hartley could barely hear him. There were several minutes of quiet between Wells and Hartley, and Hartley simply waited.

“You know,” Wells began, softly, “we made a good team today.”

Hartley stared at him. Last year－rather, mere weeks ago, if Hartley was honest with himself－hearing that would’ve made his month. It would’ve re-energized him, would’ve had him ready to do anything to hear it _again._ Now, Hartley just felt bitter.

“The only time we made a _good team,_ ” Hartley said, voice steady, “was when you could control me.”

Cisco returned before Wells could do more than frown at him. “Did I miss anything?” he asked, looking down at the control panel.

“No,” Wells said, eyes still lingering on Hartley. “Nothing at all.”

 _“Guys,”_ the Flash’s voice suddenly blared through the comms, _“we found them.”_

“Good job,” Wells said, moving to the monitor beside Cisco. “Remember, give it to him, and get out.”

There was a beat, and then, _“Professor Stein!”_ the Flash called. _“Wait－”_

 _“What are you doing here?!”_ Ronnie’s voice roared through the comms. _“You can’t_ be here. She _can’t be here!”_

 _“Look, please,”_ Caitlin’s voice begged, _“Ronnie’s still in there, and－”_

 _“I can’t,”_ Ronnie－Stein－started. _“All those people. Clarissa. I won’t_ kill them. _”_

 _“You won’t,”_ Caitlin said, quickly. _“Look, here, it’s a quantum splicer.”_

 _“It’ll separate the two of you,”_ the Flash said. _“Without the explosion.”_

Which wasn't exactly the truth. Hartley met Wells’s gaze evenly over the monitors.

 _“How?”_ Stein asked.

 _“The device bombards your cells with energy, just as much as when you and Ronnie first fused after the accelerator exploded,”_ Caitlin said. _“It should be enough to separate you.”_

There was a long silence. Time ticked by.

 _“Please, Professor,”_ Caitlin said. _“You have nothing left to lose if you try.”_

Hartley finally looked at the countdown. Two minutes left.

 _“Ronnie,”_ Caitlin said, _“if you’re in there, if you can hear me. I love you.”_

And then the sound of kissing. Hartley cringed, glancing at the tense faces of Wells and Cisco. The other two probably couldn’t even hear it.

 _“That was from him,”_ Stein said.

 _“I look forward to meeting you in person,”_ Caitlin responded.

Hartley listened, and heard the faint noise of the quantum splicer’s arms moving. “Now would be a good time to start running,” Hartley said, raising his eyebrows. His heart was racing.

 _“It’s not working,”_ the Flash said, panic in his voice. Hartley swallowed.

Heartbeats were racing in his ears.

Wells leaned forward. “We said it was a possibility! Now _run!_ ”

 _“No!”_ Caitlin was shouting. Hartley dug his fingers into he chair’s arms. _“No!”_

“Get out of there!” Wells shouted.

Cisco sucked in a breath. “Suit is picking up speed,” he said. “He’s running.”

Wells leaned back. “Thank－”

The explosion made Hartley jump. Both Wells and Cisco were staring, aghast, at the control panel. Hartley looked again.

The timer still had thirty seconds left on it, and Hartley shut his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations :**
> 
>  
> 
> C’est la vie.  
> \- French; _Such is life_
> 
> Ab honesto virum bonum nihil deterret  
> \- Latin; _Nothing deters a good man from the performance of his duties_
> 
> Et esne bonum?  
> \- Latin; _And are you good?_
> 
> Videbimus.  
> \- Latin; _We'll see._
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> Oh no a cliffhanger I wonder what’s going to happen. XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	4. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene occurs immediately after the end of the previous chapter.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read along so far! Ready for more comic-bullcrap? But this time it’s with computer parts! Sorta. Hartley’s gloves are hard.

Hartley, sat, head bowed, and just _listened._

The explosion was still rumbling heavy in his ears. Caitlin’s breaths, coming quick, were almost as loud as the rushing wind from the Flash’s speed. Wells was holding his breath, heart racing.

Cisco was on his feet.

“Faster, faster,” he chanted, softly. “ _C’mon,_ c’mon!”

Hartley could also hear the explosion in real-time, beyond the Flash’s comms. It was softer than he expected for a blast of that size, even at the distance it was from the city. It was surreal.

And then a gasp of pain, and the rumbling overtook Caitlin’s breathing.

Hartley’s head snapped up.

“B－” Wells started, eyes wide, and he threw Hartley a vicious glare. “Flash,” he called instead, turning back to the monitors. “Flash, can you hear me? Are you alright? Are you and Caitlin _alright?_ ”

Cisco was bouncing on his toes, sneakers squeaking ever so slightly. “Talk to us, man.”

Then Hartley heard the Flash groan. _“You okay?”_

 _“I-I think so,”_ came Caitlin’s reply. Then, a sharp breath. _“Oh God. The nuclear explosion.”_

“Relax, Doctor Snow,” Wells said, his own heart rate calming, and he turned to Cisco.

The Flash cleared his throat. _“Doctor Wells is saying to relax?”_

 _“Relax?!”_ Caitlin’s reply came, shrill and frightened. _“There’s no telling how much radiation we’ve been exposed to-”_

“Uh, none, actually,” Cisco said, dropping back into his own seat. “The suit’s Geiger counter is reading less than one millirad.” Cisco looked up, meeting Hartley’s gaze. “It’s just like Hartley said. Big boom, no radiation.”

Hartley let his eyes close. The risk of a nuclear explosion... it had existed. But the chance had been small.

 _“But,”_ the Flash began, _“that means－”_

 _“Let’s go,”_ Caitlin interrupted.

Cisco could hardly contain himself. “Do you see them?” he asked and leaned over the control panel, getting closer to the comm. “Did it work?”

 _“We’re looking,”_ the Flash said. _“The explosion’s made an ash cloud. It’s hard to see anything.”_

 _“Wait!”_ Caitlin cried. _“Ronnie!”_

Hartley closed his eyes again, listening. He was tempted to pull out the dampeners in his ears, see if he could pick up on Ronnie and Stein’s heartbeats through the comm. He resisted.

Footsteps on uneven ground. A collapse－did someone trip?

 _“Tell me your name,”_ Caitlin said. Her voice was tense.

 _“Ronnie Raymond,”_ came Ronnie’s voice (Hartley recognized it, his tone, not Stein).

Hartley exhaled, shoulders slumping, and he fell back against the chair.

“What do you hear, Hartley?” Cisco asked.

“It’s Ronnie,” Hartley said, keeping his eyes closed, and then winced at the wet sounds of kissing. “He’s himself again.”

 _“Uh,”_ came a new voice, but the inflection was familiar, _“pardon me.”_

“Stein’s there, too,” Hartley said, and the relief was palpable. Hartley could literally _hear it_ in the way their hearts settled, the creaking as they relaxed into their seats, the deep breaths they took.

Hartley felt like he could sleep for a month.

 _“Nice to see you again, Professor Stein,”_ the Flash said. Then, _“We’re coming home. All of us.”_

And Hartley opened his eyes again.

Wells nodded, resting his forehead against his palm, his elbow on the arm of his wheelchair. “We’ll see you all shortly then, Flash.” He smiled. “Good work.”

“More like _great work,_ ” Cisco said, and then pushed back from the control panel. He walked around it, coming to where Hartley was sitting.

Hartley blinked at him. “What?” he asked, a tad defensive, feeling too raw for any sort of battle of wits.

Cisco shook his head, a corner of his mouth twisting upwards in a half smile. “Nothing, just,” he began, and then shrugged. “You did good work, too.”

Hartley stared at him. Before he could say anything, Cisco reached down and clapped him on the shoulder.

“When you’re not being a jerk, or a _dick,_ ” he said, grinning, “you make a pretty decent good guy.”

Hartley _smiled._

Then he caught himself, and managed to force it into something less... less exposed. “I think I’ll leave that to the Flash and you three,” he said.

Cisco snorted, stepping back. “Well, thanks for not leaving us to it _today,_ ” he said.

Hartley could only nod back, and watched as Cisco made his way to one of the labs on the right side of the control room.

“Yes,” Wells said, and Hartley jerked his attention back to the man. His eyes were narrow, and his tone deceptively light. “Good job, Mister Rathaway.”

Hartley shoved himself to his feet and walked back into the lab behind him, where his sonic gloves were waiting. He picked up the left glove, looking it over it before setting it aside to focus on the right one.

He’d used heat sinks the first time he’d build his gloves, because they were economical. Now, however, Hartley could do what he’d wanted in the first place.

“Cisco!” Hartley called, leaning back in his chair to peer through the doorway.

Cisco’s head poked around the far side of the lab, the rest of him hidden behind a wall. “Yeah?”

“Do you have heat pipes on hand?”

Cisco made a face at him. “Do _I_ have heat pipes? Did you _really_ just ask me that?”

Hartley raised an eyebrow.

Cisco scoffed. “Of course I do. Give me a second.”

Heat sinks alone were fine on the left glove, since that wasn’t the reason the gloves had destroyed themselves. It had been the right glove’s fault: while facing down the dementor, Hartley had been switching frequencies very quickly, and it had overheated the system. Instead of frying the databank, however, the destruction focused on, in relative terms, the more easily replaceable parts.

A heat pipe would fix that. It had been in Hartley’s original plans for the gloves, but it had not been financially viable. The heat sinks had worked for what Hartley needed them for.

He just hadn’t expected to fight a monster from _Harry Potter._

Cisco came into the lab, holding a small, flat box. Inside, Hartley could see several long copper pipes. Cisco raised his eyebrow. “Will these do?” he asked.

Hartley took the box, looking down at them. He raised his head and nodded. “They will,” he said. He hesitated a moment. “I appreciate it.”

Cisco waved his hand through the air. “You’re helping us as much as helping yourself, so,” he replied, but he still grinned.

As he left, Hartley stared at the box, and the heat pipes. There was a hollow feeling growing in his gut, and he reached under the workstation. As he touched the gum and wires and tiny batteries still stuck there, he closed his eyes.

Wells’s engine purred, and Hartley snapped out of it, withdrawing his hand, and went back to work on his gloves. The heat pipes would go straight down the middle, along his forearm, and his overheating issues would be solved. Then he just had to finish wiring it and downloading the frequency data, and Hartley would be done.

Hartley glanced at his left glove, then at the heat pipes, and then back to his glove, and wished he hadn’t already finished it.

“The Flash is thirty seconds away,” Wells called, and Cisco stumbled out of the lab he’d been in.

“Ronnie’s almost here,” Cisco said, a little giddy. “Oh man, there’s so much to tell him.” He paused in the center of the lab, heart rate spiking for a second.

Wells sighed. “There’s plenty of time for that, Cisco,” he said. “Now, just, _breathe._ ”

Cisco nodded, and then tried to smooth down his black and white graphic t-shirt.

Hartley went back to securing the heat pipes down the center of the glove. There was an anxiety there, but he ignored it. Ronnie had never been Hartley’s friend. He’d told Stein the truth: they’d mostly sent message via Caitlin. Sometimes Hartley had gone down into the guts of the particle accelerator to do something by hand, but he and Ronnie didn’t cross paths much, except during meetings.

But Hartley was still relieved when he heard the four heartbeats coming up the elevator.

“They’re here,” Hartley said, and Cisco gulped.

“Oh man,” Cisco whispered. “Oh man, oh _man._ ”

He didn’t move, just standing there in the middle of the room. Finally, Wells spread his hands. “Well?” he asked, staring at Cisco. “ _Go._ ”

Cisco took off like he’d been waiting for a signal, skidding around the doorway and then disappearing down the hall.

Wells turned to look at Hartley, raising an eyebrow. “You, too.”

Hartley furrowed his brow. “You want _me_ to come?” he asked.

Wells frowned. “Want? No,” he said. “But _I_ want to be there.”

“And you don’t want to leave me alone in here,” Hartley said. _‘Again,’_ he added, privately, as he rose to his feet. The last time had ended with Hartley wildly writing on a dry erase board, though, so, perhaps Wells was more concerned with Hartley solving world hunger in the minutes it would take.

He kept stride with Wells’s chair as they walked down the hallway, towards where the cluster of five heartbeats were. As they got closer, however, Hartley slowed, and then stopped. Wells shot him a look, but continued on when Hartley simply pressed his shoulder against the wall.

This wasn’t for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he heard Cisco say. “I shouldn’t have locked you in there.”

That had Hartley raising an eyebrow. Ronnie, however, simply said, “Hey, don’t.” It was enough, though, to ease the pounding of Cisco’s heart.

And there were six distinct heartbeats in the area ahead of Hartley. Six, not five. Hartley had done this _one thing,_ had fixed this one thing.

It was a start. And maybe one thing was all it took.

He was pulled from his musings as Wells came back around the bend, Ronnie just beside him. Ronnie stopped the instant he saw Hartley, eyebrows rising.

“So I didn’t just imagine you,” Ronnie said, walking around Wells’s chair and approaching Hartley, and Hartley pushed away from the wall. Ronnie shook his head. “Some things are harder to remember than others.” He held out his hand. “It _is_ good to see you again, Hartley.”

For a moment, Hartley was tempted to just glare at him, but, that urge was swallowed by a need to just _know._ “Mister Raymond,” Hartley said as he shook Ronnie’s very real, very alive hand.

Ronnie raised an eyebrow at the minimal response, and then shook his head. “Some things just don’t change.”

Hartley couldn’t help the tilted smile that spread across his face. “You’d be surprised,” he said, and waited for Ronnie and Wells to pass before following behind them. The Flash and Caitlin trailed him just a few feet.

“Wow,” Ronnie said, as Wells led him into the control room. “This is a little different.”

Wells laughed. “We’re vigilantes now,” he said, coming to a stop by the center workstation. He looked around the walls, at the monitors that were all flashing zeroes at them. With a few keystrokes, they went black. “It was good to put this place to use again.”

Hartley slipped away, moving back to his lab space. He watched, however, as Ronnie slowly turned in place, taking in everything. “Vigilantes,” he said slowly, and then looked back at Wells, and then his gaze went behind him, where Hartley could hear the others arriving. “The _Flash._ ” His brow furrowed as he smiled. “What’s the reason behind us not saying his name here? Do other people besides you five work here?”

Hartley was momentarily confused－Caitlin, Cisco, the Flash, and Wells made _four_ －but it struck him, the same moment that Wells’s face went very blank. The Flash cleared his throat, very pointedly looking the complete opposite direction as Hartley. Caitlin stared straight at Ronnie, as though she were being held it place.

“It’s,” she began, slowly, painfully so, “a... a very long story.”

Ronnie’s eyebrows rose, and the Flash nodded, glancing at Caitlin, who’s eyes were still locked onto Ronnie. “Yeah, it’s, ah, just a _thing_ －”

“Hartley isn’t actually part of the _team,_ ” Wells said, his tone a little snide.

Ronnie shook his head, looking over at Hartley, who smirked, and then back at Wells. “He’s _not?_ ”

“No,” Wells said, folding his hands together onto his lap. “In fact, you might even say it’s the opposite.”

The Flash cringed. “I mean,” he began, “maybe at first, but－”

“He _attacked me,_ Flash,” Wells said.

“ _What?_ ” Ronnie said, and stared at Hartley. “He _what?_ ”

Hartley raised his wrists above his head, showing off the shiny metal bands around each arm. “These aren’t a new fashion trend,” he said, and then turned to his gloves. He glanced at them from the corner of his eye, however.

Ronnie shook his head, turning to Wells. “Why isn’t he in _prison?_ ”

Caitlin quickly stepped forward, taking Ronnie’s arm. “We’re sort of rehabilitating him,” she said. “Him and the other meta-humans we’ve... fought against.”

That had Hartley rolling his eyes.

“Meta...?” Ronnie trailed off, and Caitlin opened her mouth.

“Human beings given abilities by the particle accelerator explosion,” Stein said as he walked into the lab. He was, strangely enough, wearing a STAR Labs sweatshirt. Cisco trailed behind him, and Stein gestured to him. “According to this young man.”

Wells nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Yourself, Ronnie, the Flash, and Hartley were all affected by the dark matter.”

Stein glanced Hartley’s way. “And, as it goes,” the man muttered quietly, “when some are given great gifts, they abuse them.”

Hartley paused, and fought the urge to laugh. “Indeed,” Hartley said, without looking their way, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Yes, the root of all evil. _Superhearing._ ” Not the betrayal, or the guilt, or the anger. That damned tinnitus.

Stein’s heart rate jumped. Wells groaned. “Yes,” he said. “Mister Rathaway’s hearing is _very good._ So, please, be careful what you say. Anywhere.”

“Hey, now,” Cisco said, “Hartley’s a big part of the reason Stein and Ronnie were even able to be separated.”

Hartley froze.

“Without him,” Caitlin continued, “we wouldn’t have ever known that you’d merged with Ronnie in the first place, Doctor Stein.”

“And he was part of the team _today,_ ” the Flash said, firmly. “And we know you can hear us, Hartley.”

Hartley scoffed, somehow through his tight throat, and hunched further over his workstation. Heat pipe heat pipe heat pipe. Affix the heat pipe to the glove.

“Alright,” Wells said, a little grumpy. “Doctor Stein, if you’ll come with me, I’d like to take your vitals. Make sure you’re okay.”

Stein huffed. “Very well,” he said. They walked past Hartley’s lab, Wells shooting Hartley a look through the glass.

Hartley just watched him.

“I guess that means you get me, Mister Raymond,” Caitlin said, practically bubbling.

Ronnie’s heart rate jumped. “I’m lucky to have you, Doctor Snow.”

Cisco cleared his throat, taking a few steps backward. “Well, I’m going to check over the quantum splicer.”

“And I,” the Flash began, edging towards the suit display, “am going to go eat... everything.”

Hartley was tempted to ask to be put in his cell, but just sighed and tried to focus on the gloves instead of the two reunited lovebirds. The Flash disappeared through the doorway, leaving his suit behind, and Cisco bolted after him.

 _‘Heat pipe,’_ he told himself, trying to ignore the gentle talking, the small giggles, and the elevated heart rates in the lab across the room. Hartley picked up a bracket and screw, and picked up a white pencil to mark where they would go. The best place for them would be beneath the frequency-modifiers, covered by another strip of protective metal. He carefully drew a small, white X in the black fabric.

“Oh!” Caitlin said, her heart rate increasing. “What, um, what exactly have you been doing? Or, was Stein doing, I suppose.”

“Yeah, this doesn’t make much sense,” Ronnie replied, and his heart rate had increased, too. “He kept us moving, but, nothing that’d cause, um. This.”

Caitlin swallowed. “So, turns out being in a near constant state of nuclear fission can give you abs, too.”

“Ach du lieber,” Hartley muttered, pressing his palms against his ears, just for a moment. His own pulse from his palms pounded, almost, but not quite, drowning out the drivel. He pulled them away, though, when the tinnitus began to worsen.

Just in time to hear them kissing.

“Why?” Hartley whispered, staring straight ahead. “ _Why?_ ”

Maybe he was just jealous. Maybe he needed to get laid.

Maybe he should fix his gloves so he could focus on _getting out of there._

“Yep,” Cisco said, and Hartley couldn’t believe he missed him coming back. “Just when I forgot how awkward it was to walk in on you two.”

Was this a _normal occurrence?_ Was this something Hartley was going to get used to? Ronnie was an engineer. Would even his _cell_ be safe from the noise?!

“Also I think you’ve scarred Hartley for life, so, thanks for that.”

“Shut up Ramon!” Hartley snapped, leaning back in his chair again.

That was when Wells came into the control room, leading Stein again. He glanced between the grinning Cisco and Hartley’s own scowl, and then simply shook his head.

“I’m not going to ask,” he said, raising his empty hand, and, with a last parting glance at Hartley, Wells continued over to Caitlin and Ronnie.

“So,” he began again, holding out a tablet for Caitlin to take, “I completed my work-up on Doctor Stein. Everything appears normal, including the perfectly normal _inability_ to harness nuclear energy.”

“Huh,” Cisco said. “Must be something you can only do while you’re... merged.”

Caitlin hummed. “Well, there is one thing,” she said, and Hartley watched her turn the tablet toward Stein. “Your temperature is raised. One hundred point six, exactly the same as Ronnie’s.”

“Which would be remarkable if the measurements were in Celsius, Doctor,” Stein said. “But, as our bodies have gone through what amounts to fighting off an infection, you’ll forgive me if I am simply relieved to know that a slight fever is all I share with Ronald, now.”

Ronnie’s heart rate spiked. “It’s Ronnie.”

Stein made an unimpressed noise, and Cisco cleared his throat. “So, uh, Ronnie,” he began, “you gonna miss being able to fly?”

And Ronnie’s heart rate sped up even more. Hartley leaned back again, preparing to watch the drama unfold.

“I might have,” Ronnie began as he sat up from the exam table, tone a little sharp, and he turned his attention to Stein, “if I’d been the one holding the _controller._ ”

Stein stepped closed to Ronnie, and Cisco took a step back.

“Meaning?” Stein said, his own heart rate jumping up.

“ _Meaning,_ ” Ronnie snapped, rising to his feet and tugging a STAR Labs zip-up sweater around his shoulders, “you weren’t the most conscientious body mate.”

This was much better than listening to straight people make out.

Stein drew himself taller. “I suppose the definition of _‘conscientious’_ must have changed since I last heard it, since _keeping you alive_ no longer falls under it.”

“Keeping us _alive?_ ” Ronnie shook his head. “We were sleeping under a bridge. Eating _garbage._ ”

Hartley gave up any pretense of working, and simply stood up from his chair to lean in the doorway of his lab. Cisco caught sight of him and wrinkled his nose at him. Hartley simply raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know _what_ determined that my mind would be the one in control,” Stein said, “but thank _God_ it did. I could feel your panic, your _fear._ Those feelings would have doomed us, and anyone around us.”

Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “You _buried me,_ ” he hissed. “You smothered me. You kept me from _her._ ” He gestured to Caitlin, who had kept quiet the whole time, heartbeat mostly steady.

Stein huffed. “Which is likely why,” he said, sounding utterly unimpressed, “she is still alive.”

Hartley winced.

“Now,” Stein continued, in the face of Ronnie’s mute anger, “I believed you and I have seen enough of each other to last a lifetime.”

“Two,” Ronnie growled.

Stein turned to Wells. “I’d like to go home, and see my wife.”

Hartley, realizing the show was now truly over, walked back to his workstation and dropped into his chair.

“The Flash will take you,” Wells was saying, leading Stein back down to the control room. Cisco followed.

“He went out for food,” Cisco said, pulling his cellphone from his pocket. “I’ll call him, and we can meet him outside.”

“Thank you, Mister Ramon,” Stein said, following Cisco out of the lab, spine straight as a board.

He was gone for only a moment before Ronnie grumbled, “I need pizza.”

“You got it,” Caitlin murmured back. Their hands twined, and she pulled him out of the lab.

Hartley sighed at the sudden near-emptiness. Again.

“Are the gloves almost complete?” Wells asked, not looking away from the control room doors.

“Almost,” Hartley replied. “The right glove’s wiring needs to be finished, and the cooling system installed. The left one is ready for testing, however.”

Wells snorted. “If you think,” he began, finally turning his chair around to face Hartley, “I’m going to let you _use those things_ －”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “You will if you want them to work against the－” _dementor_ － “creature. If it ever returns.”

Wells glared at him, and Hartley simply turned away. There were few things that irritated Hartley more than being ignored. He’d bet anything Wells was very similar.

“Professor Stein’s on his way,” Cisco said, clomping back into the control center. “As are Caitlin and Ronnie.”

Wells gestured at Hartley. “Then help Mister Rathaway.”

“I’ve got this handled,” Hartley grumbled.

“Chill,” Cisco said, slipping into the lab. “I won’t touch your precious babies.” He grabbed the start of the Expecto-No off the next workstation. “Not when I have one of my own to see about raising up big and strong!”

Hartley nudged his chair over as Cisco dropped into his usual spot beside him. While Hartley was focused mainly on his gloves, Cisco was working to replicate their ideas into a more user-friendly form.

Not everyone could pick out frequencies by ear. Of course, that made the Expecto-No less versatile. It’d have to be retuned for each individual encounter.

“What if you have to punch someone?” Cisco asked, almost an hour later, looking over at Hartley’s work. “It looks like you’ll smash all your delicate bits to hell.”

“If I have to punch someone while wearing these,” Hartley drawled, securing the last bracket for holding the heat pipes in place, “it will be because they’ve _already_ been smashed to hell, and it won’t matter.”

“I’m just saying,” Cisco said, and there was a note of anticipation in his voice that had Hartley slightly alarmed, and Cisco actually glanced at him sideways, “you wouldn’t want to end up being a _one-note fighter._ ”

“No.”

Cisco cackled with glee.

“You’ve Rickrolled me, and now music puns. I cannot believe this.”

Wells’s cellphone went off in the distance, and Hartley was almost glad for it. He checked to be sure the heat sinks were in place, were stable, and were protected. (Despite what he told Cisco, the gloves could take some abuse. Not a lot, but some.)

“Flash,” Wells said.

“Oh,” the Flash said over the phone. “Hartley’s still there? That’s cool, but, um. I have something Joe and I need to talk to you about. And Cisco. It’s about my－my mom.”

Hartley stilled, and Cisco’s laughter died down.

“What is it?’ Cisco muttered, glancing over his shoulder. Wells was nodding into the phone. “Something bad?”

“The Flash is coming here with... Joe. The police detective,” Hartley said. “I think my presence will not be tolerated.”

Cisco’s eyes widened. “Oh, that. Yeah,” he muttered. He shrugged. “It’s private family, uh, stuff. Hard to get around that even while wearing a mask.”

Hartley huffed out what might have been a laugh, at one time. “That I understand,” he said, and started setting his gloves onto their stands.

Granted, it had been taking _off_ the figurative mask that had caused Hartley’s family drama.

“C’mon,” Cisco said, rising to his feet. “You can take a nap after this whole freaking fiasco today.”

A nap wouldn’t be remiss.

“The gloves can wait for you to _tune in_ next time.”

“You leave me in that cell to _die,_ Ramon. You’ve sapped the will to live out of me. I want to _die._ ”

“So this will be your _swan song?_ ”

“Never mind. I want _you_ to die.”

 

* * *

 

Cisco didn’t listen to Hartley’s last request. Which was fine, because Hartley couldn’t fall asleep anyway.

“You’re almost done with your gloves, right?” Cisco asked, as they walked into the lab.

Hartley nodded. “The only thing left is wiring the right glove, and then downloading the frequency data.”

“Then let’s finish that up!” Cisco said, eagerly.

There was a strange absence of another heartbeat, and Hartley turned his head, looking around the lab. “Where’s Wells?” he asked.

Cisco shrugged. “ _Doctor_ Wells said he had to go home for something,” he said, and then spread his hands. “And so I figured, why sit here in the empty lab working on advanced soundwave technology _alone,_ when I could do it while watching YouTube.” He smirked. “Since YouTube is out of the question, at least you’re here.”

“Ha,” Hartley said, rolling his shoulders. Despite the teasing, Hartley _was_ eager to finish the work on his right glove. If he finished the glove, then that was more time he could focus on escaping. Which he wanted to do.

Cisco walked over to his own work station and lifted up a bag of pretzels. “Snack?”

He really did.

It was only twenty minutes later that Hartley finally lifted his hands. The last time he’d done this, completed these gloves, he’d been filled with a dark, mean, consuming feeling. The anticipation had been for what was going to _end,_ for the look on Wells’s face when he realized the mistake he’d made in choosing _the Flash_ over Hartley.

Now, Hartley wondered what he was going to _do_ with them.

Well, that _and_ the look on Wells’s face. Hartley wasn’t going to turn away a little Schadenfreude.

“Dude, are they done?” Cisco asked, leaning over Hartley’s shoulder.

In response, Hartley powered them both up. The lights on them glowed a vibrant green, and he turned to Cisco, who was grinning. “They’ll run,” he said, smirking. Then he nodded his head to the side. “I can’t be sure if the upgrades I’ve done are functional, or how the balance might have shifted, until I actually _test_ them. But we can access the frequency data now.”

Cisco laughed, clapping Hartley hard on the shoulder, rattling him a little. “That’s _great!_ ” he said, and ran off to get his work tablet. “Let’s get that going, and you can help me with the Expecto-No.”

Hartley stepped back as Cisco brought the tablet by, and directed him on connecting the device to the glove’s databank.

“You do realize,” Hartley began, as the data downloaded, “that _expecto_ literally translates into _‘I await’_ , right?”

Cisco, who’d been dragging over a blow torch and square welding goggles, simply raised his eyebrows at him. “Well, I’m awaiting your _point._ ”

“My point is it’s a _bad name._ ”

“My original idea was _‘PatroNone’_ , but Caitlin actually threw a book at me for that.”

“I would have thrown a _chair._ ”

Their bickering ended when Cisco’s tablet beeped, signaling the download had finished. Cisco pressed the torch and goggles in to Hartley’s hands. “You get started on shaping the Expecto-No’s frame,” he said, stepping around him. “I’ll check the data.”

Hartley nodded, pulling off his hoodie-jacket, and pulled the square, green goggles over his glasses, to protect his eyes from the light of the flames. The roar of the torch was distracting, almost enough that he nearly missed the sound of the Flash’s too-fast heartbeat. He turned off the torch, straightening his back, just as the blur streaked around the room.

And blazed into Hartley’s lab, suit donned.

Cisco yelped, and nearly dropped his tablet. “What－” he began, but the Flash was already talking over him.

“Stein says Ronnie’s in trouble at Jitters,” the Flash said, and was just _gone._

Cisco was blinking his eyes, and Hartley finally lifted the welding goggles to his forehead. “What?” he echoed.

Then Cisco’s cellphone started to ring.

“Crap crap crap,” Cisco muttered, setting his tablet down and pulling out his cellphone. “ _Crap_ it’s Caitlin.”

Hartley could hear Caitlin’s panicked breathing the moment Cisco answer the phone. _“Call the Flash,”_ she blurted, before Cisco could say anything.

“He’s on his way to Jitters right now,” Cisco said, marching out of Hartley’s lab. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

 _“They’re shooting－eek!”_ Caitlin shrieked, and there was a shuffling noise.

“Caitlin!” Cisco shouted, eyes wide.

_“Th-they’re shooting at Ronnie, at everyone. Drugs, knock-out darts, maybe. They’re well armed, and so many. I don’t－”_

“I’m getting the van, meeting you there,” Cisco said.

_“Please, hurry!”_

“Stay on the line with me, okay?’ Cisco said, putting the phone on speaker. He paused, standing in the middle of the control room. Then he swung around and pointed at Hartley. “Get your gloves. Rescue mission time.”

Hartley gaped.

“You’re joking,” he said, frozen.

Cisco shook his head, even as Caitlin was sputtering on the other end of the line. “Doctor Wells isn’t here,” he said, walking back into Hartley’s lab and grabbing the gloves, “and I don’t have time to put you in your cell. Time for a field trip.”

He shoved the gloves into Hartley’s grip and strode purposefully out of the lab. Hartley robotically grabbed his hoodie-jacket from the chair he’d thrown it over, and rushed to follow Cisco. He nearly had to jog to keep up with Cisco’s pace.

 _“Cisco,”_ Caitlin was saying, _“are you sure－”_

“Absolutely,” Cisco said, even as his heartbeat fluctuated.

Well, at least he wasn’t being a complete fool.

It felt very _odd_ gong back into the elevator. It’d been so long since he’d seen anything besides the walls leading from the labs to the pipeline. Cisco was staring straight up at the elevator’s ceiling.

“Doctor Wells is going to kill me,” he muttered under his breath.

Hartley scoffed. “You’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “I’m going to get skinned.”

He was only half-joking.

When the elevator reached the bottom floor, they ran, ducking through doorways until they reached the garage.

“Get in the back!” Cisco shouted as he ran to the driver’s door. Hartley didn’t hesitate, pulling the sliding side door open as soon as it was unlocked, the engine of the van roaring to life, and hauled himself into the empty back just as Cisco started moving. He got the door closed as Cisco sped out of the garage.

Hartley took a steadying breath as he pulled his gloves on, hoping the repairs were functional beyond just turning on the lights. He pressed the keys, adjusting the frequency.

“We’re almost there, Caitlin,” Cisco was saying, phone thrown into the passenger seat. “Me and the freakin’ _Pied Piper._ ”

Hartley huffed, still in stunned disbelief. The city was blurring past them as they sped down the highway. He was outside. He was wearing his gloves.

In the back of his mind, the bugle call _Charge_ was playing.

He reached up to pull his hoodie over his head, to cover his face better, when he touched the welding goggles. He’d forgotten them. He pulled them over his glasses, the tinted lenses making it a little hard to see. Then he grabbed his turtleneck and pulled it over his mouth. Then came the hood.

The Pied Piper.

Hartley’s heart _raced._

“I see you!” Cisco called. “Caitlin, I see you! Piper, open the door!”

Hartley grabbed the door handle and pulled as the van’s tires squealed. Hartley barely got a glimpse of the outside world before Caitlin was diving inside.

“Keep the door open!” she shouted, grabbing onto the back of Cisco’s seat to steady herself. “Just drive down the alley by Jitters. I saw some men with guns heading there.”

“Got it!” Cisco shouted, and the van lurched into motion.

Caitlin stared at Hartley, eyes wide. Then her gaze fell to the gloves, which lit the inside of the van a sickly green. “Do they work?”

Hartley stretched his fingers. “I suppose we’ll find out,” he said, slightly muffled by his shirt neck.

“Here we go!” Cisco shouted, voice high, and the van turned.

And Hartley listened.

Eleven heartbeats. All fast, two abnormally so. Six slowing, unconscious perhaps. More beyond. No radio signals, no communications: top secret, or off the books.

“Flash is down!” Cisco shouted, panicked.

Hartley exhaled, sharp, nodded. “Then I’m up.”

He grabbed the outside of the van to keep himself steady as Cisco slammed the breaks and cranked the wheel, turning the van sharply ninety-degrees. Hartley used the jerking motion of the sudden stop to catapult himself out of the van, and he looked out into the brick-lined alley.

The Flash had done most of the work: six of the nine men were on the ground. Two were climbing to their feet, readying guns. The Flash was on the ground, covered in spikes－ _spikes._ Ronnie, at least, was standing.

The ninth soldier was _General Eiling._ And as surprised as Hartley was see him, the old man looked doubly surprised to see _the Pied Piper._

Which was why Eiling never saw Ronnie’s punch coming.

“Get in the van!” Caitlin shouted as Eiling toppled to the ground.

Ronnie grabbed the Flash, who howled in pain－he was covered in _spikes_ what on _Earth_ －but dragged himself along. Hartley stood between them, covering them, and raised his hands. A twitch of his fingers, and the sound waves shattered the glass around them, and dropped the rising men to their knees. The pain was immediate.

_For all of them._

Hartley dropped his left arm instantly, ceasing the glove’s function, but kept the right raised. He focused beyond the pain in his palm ( _foolish,_ he should’ve tested them first and _screw Wells_ ). He reached out, adjusting the frequency with the curl of his fingers, and physically _threw_ one of the soldiers through the air. Eiling, who’d been reaching for something in his pocket, was just as easily blown five feet down the alley.

The van’s horn honked.

“Piper, we’re good!” Caitlin called.

Hartley stumbled back, right arm raised, watching the writhing soldiers, and was dragged into the van by two pairs of hands. Then he shut off the glove.

“Cisco, drive!” Caitlin shouted, and the van squealed into motion.

The Flash let out a pained gurgle, which caused Caitlin and Ronnie to crawl to his side.

“What did they do?” she whispered, shocked. “What _is this?_ ”

“I’m okay,” the Flash wheezed. “It just really, _really_ hurts. I don’t－ _urk_ －I don’t think they’re that deep.”

Ronnie glared. “Deep enough,” he muttered. “They were _waiting_ for you.”

The Flash huffed out a laugh. “We’ve met before.”

Hartley was leaning against the door, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He heard the noise of the van’s breaks, and the gentle slowing.

Ronnie ducked his head down, peering out the tinted back window. “Why are we stopping?” he hissed.

“Red light,” Cisco hissed back. “I’d rather not get pulled over with two masked dudes in the back, alright? It was bad enough with just one!”

It came to Hartley then.

He could just open the door. He could just open the door, topple out, and be gone.

The Flash couldn’t catch him, not as he was. Ronnie was on the run from the army. Neither Caitlin nor Cisco would leave the Flash to chase after him. If there was a moment to take a chance, this was it.

Hartley hissed out a breath.

“Hartley!”

Hartley blinked rapidly, and found Caitlin hovering in front of him With his right hand, he finally reached up and pulled the goggles off, and the world was suddenly much brighter.

“Did you say something?” Hartley asked, pulling down the fabric of his turtleneck.

The van began to move once more.

Caitlin’s brow furrowed, mouth pinched in concern. “I asked if you were alright. You’re holding onto your hand.”

Hartley let out a short laugh. “I’m better off than the Flash,” he said, and leaned forward. Gritting his teeth, he set his gloved left hand onto his lap and used his chin and nose to disengage the discovered-attack trap on his right glove. Then he just looked at it, feeling a little helpless.

“Here,” Caitlin muttered, holding out her hand. “Let me help.”

Hartley blinked at her, and then offered her his hand. She tugged the glove off of it, and waited for Hartley to disengage the other glove’s trap.

“Before we do anything,” Caitlin said, eyeing the glove resting in his lap, “I need to know what’s wrong.”

Hartley closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, and very carefully moved his fingers. He sucked in a sharp breath of pain. “Two broken bones in the palm of my hand,” he said, strained.

“You can tell that?” Cisco asked. In front of them, the visage of STAR Labs loomed closer and closer.

“I can hear the bones grinding together.”

“Oh,” the Flash said, looking a little pale, from his prone spot, “that’s awful.”

Hartley raised his eyebrow. “You are a human pincushion.”

“There’s not much we can do for him right now,” Ronnie said, wincing as he looked the Flash over. “The shards are sharp, and we’d hurt ourselves if we tried to pull them out.”

“I once shattered all the bones in my hand on another guy’s _face,_ ” the Flash said, almost bragging. “I’m going to be fine.”

Hartley turned to Caitlin for confirmation, and she simply glared back at the Flash. She turned back to Hartley and made a face. “I want to get the glove off before your hand swells, and then we’d have to cut it.”

Hartley nodded. “Here,” he said, and reached into the end of his glove. There was a small zipper there, and he pulled it all the way around his arm. “My gloves have liners,” he said, to Caitlin’s confused expression. Then he nodded at the glove. “Go ahead and pull it off.”

The outer layer came free with just a bit of groaning. The under layer was a bit more stubborn.

“So,” the Flash asked, when Hartley thought about just calling it quits and letting Caitlin cut it off when they got into STAR Labs, “what did you think about your first night out as an actual superhero?”

“Oh God,” Cisco moaned, “don’t put that into his head. He’ll be wanting me to design _him_ a suit next.”

Hartley let out a laugh. “I always wanted to sweep a man in uniform off his feet,” he said. “And, what?” he started, looking towards Cisco. “You don’t think I could pull off the leath- _ARG!_ ”

White spots danced in front of his vision for a moment, and Caitlin apologized. “I’m so sorry. Hartley? It’s off.”

Hartley lay limply against the van’s door. He could feel it slowing, and the sudden dimness outside meant they were probably back at STAR Labs. “Wow, this sucks,” he said inelegantly.

“Uh oh,” Cisco muttered. “It’s about to suck a whole lot worse.”

Hartley raised his head and just let out another groan. Sitting at the far end of the parking lot, in the bright lights of the van’s headlights, was Harrison Wells. And he did not look pleased.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t.

“What,” Wells began again, heartbeat thrumming with the rage easily heard in his voice, “were you _thinking?!_ ”

At least Hartley wasn’t the one getting yelled at. Instead, Hartley was lying on a medical bed, left hand elevated and iced, and a blindfold over his eyes.

The Flash, masked pulled off the check his face for wounds, was five or so feet to his left, also lying in a medical bed. Every once in awhile, he’d hiss, and a metal-on-metal sound would ring out. Caitlin’s heart would jump with every pained noise, while Ronnie’s stayed consistent.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Wells,” Cisco said, “but Caitlin and Ronnie needed help. And so did the Flash, it turned out.”

“And so you just decided to take Hartley _out of the lab?_ ”

“It was either leave him alone in the lab, or take him with me,” Cisco said. “And, honestly? I’m glad I brought him.”

“He’s _dangerous._ ”

“Maybe,” Cisco said. “But, today? He was only dangerous to Eiling and his men.”

A door opened. And then it was instantly slammed closed.

“Wow,” the Flash said. “They are _really_ arguing in there.”

“Very astute,” Hartley drawled.

“Mister Ramon,” Wells was saying beyond the too-thin walls, voice icily calm, “I’m not finished yet.”

Cisco’s heart rate spiked, but his tone kept steady. “I get it, sir. I do. But I had two choices, and I _know_ I made the right one. You weren’t here, and I couldn’t wait for you. I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m not sorry I didn’t leave Ronnie or B－the Flash to Eiling.”

The door opened again, and this time there was a pause before the door closed, after Cisco’s elevated heartbeat and Wells’s purring motor.

And then another heartbeat caught Hartley’s attention.

“Someone’s coming. Alone,” he said, shoving himself to a sit, and every heartbeat spiked. Except one.

“Crap,” the Flash hissed, and Hartley could hear him try to move.

“Stay _down,_ ” Caitlin hissed.

“But what if it’s Eiling?”

“It’s not,” Ronnie said, sounding confused.

The leather arms of Wells’s wheelchair creaked. “How do you know?”

“It’s not Eiling,” Ronnie said, “because it’s Stein.”

The other heartbeat finally entered the control room, and Ronnie’s heart jumped. And then, eerily, Stein’s and Ronnie’s heartbeats fell in sync for several beats.

“That’s a neat parlor trick,” Cisco offered.

Stein sighed. “It appears,” he began, “that Mister Raymond and I are not as separate as we’d hoped.”

“Fascinating,” Wells said. “This must be a side-effect of your initial merger.”

“Perhaps from your perspective, it is _fascinating,_ ” Stein grumbled, coming further into the lab. “But from my own? Intensely disconcerting. What I felt... and not knowing the origins?”

There was another hiss, and then the sound of metal hitting metal. “As soon I’m done with the Flash and Hartley, I’ll run some scans.” She paused. “And lay back down, Hartley.”

Hartley slowly lowered himself back onto the medical bed. “So, Eiling’s still up to his old grand-master plan, then?” he asked.

Hartley knew Eiling, because _Wells_ had known Eiling. The experiments to create the ultimate psychic soldier had been before Hartley’s time at STAR Labs, but Grodd had still been around. Which meant the General occasionally came barking. The last time Hartley had seen him was weeks before his own confrontation with Wells. Eiling had been howling about _his gorilla,_ and Wells had sent him on his way.

And then he’d sent Hartley on his way. And then Grodd had _gotten_ away.

“He’s been trying to collect meta-humans, run experiments on them,” Cisco said. “You know, make the perfect soldier, blah blah, USA, eagles, caw-caw, patriotism.”

Hartley nodded. “That sounds about right.”

“And this man wanted Ronald?” Stein asked.

“He knew there were two of us,” Ronnie responded. “He wanted FIRESTORM.”

Stein sucked in a breath. “Well,” he began, “that’s... alarming.”

There was a tense moment.

“Let’s get started on your scans while Doctor Snow finishes,” Wells said.

“Excellent idea,” Stein replied.

“Yup,” Ronnie said. There was a wet noise－a kiss, probably on the cheek－and then their heartbeats went to the upper lab, where Stein had been checked over before.

Once their noises had been muffled by the closed door, Cisco loudly sighed. “I think I was this close to getting a literal spanking. Or _fired._ ”

“I’m sure he was just worried about you,” Caitlin said, soothingly, and there was another metal clang. “How are you holding up, Hartley?”

Hartley raised his right hand, and gave them a thumbs up. “The pain medication is working still. This blindfold would’ve put me to sleep had it been quieter.”

The Flash made a small, interested noise. “And how quiet would we have to be, with your－ _urk_ －your super-ears?”

Hartley frowned, considering. “I suppose it’s less about _noise,_ and more about _interest._ I’ll probably always hear it.”

“So,” Cisco said, slowly, “we should just be boring.”

“I think I’m starting to nod off, now.”

“Ha-ha, so funny.”

Despite himself, however, Hartley did doze, listening to the dull hum of conversation between Stein, Wells, and Ronnie, and Caitlin, Cisco, and the Flash. Sleep evaded him, though, with the edge of pain in his hand, and lying out in the open, and being blinded. He fully roused when he heard a long, drawn-out sigh of relief, followed by more metal tinging.

“Are they all gone?” the Flash asked.

“No more spikes,” Caitlin said, cheerfully.

“Thank God,” Cisco groaned, and there was a loud clanging of metal. “That bowl got really heavy towards the end.”

He was completely ignored.

“Take your suit off _slowly,_ okay?” Caitlin said. “You still have dozens of open wounds. There’s no need to further injure yourself.”

“Got it,” the Flash said.

“Hartley?” Caitlin said, coming closer to him. Hartley turned his head slightly, to show he was listening. “I’m going to go get the medical imager. I’ll be right back.”

She trotted off, and Hartley listened to the Flash grumbling as he changed.

“It’s a little awkward, alright? Doing it at Flash-speed means none of you can see me.”

“I have seen you naked,” Cisco said. “Caitlin has seen you naked. Doctor Wells has seen you naked. There is nothing left to be nervous about.”

“I’m wearing underwear!”

“Then _chill._ ”

Hartley wondered if asking if _he_ could see the Flash naked was taking it a step too far, when Caitlin came back, followed by rolling wheels.

“This isn’t going to hurt at all, Hartley,” Caitlin said.

Hartley tried not to tense. “What are you doing?” The machine was very quiet, except for the wheels.

“Oh, right, um,” Caitlin muttered. “The machine acts sort of like an x-ray, but without the radiation. It uses the same sort of technology found in the scanners in the cells, but without the alarms, basically. It’ll make a picture of the bones in your hand, and show them to us.”

Hartley frowned. “And why isn’t this technology _everywhere?_ ”

“Because no one wants to fund anything from STAR Labs, and Mercury Tech is probably building something similar?” Cisco muttered. “It’s not feasible to build them by hand, _here,_ and then sell them. So they sit around and gather dust. Or, uh, they did. Until the Flash here started fighting crime.”

There was a whirring noise. “Done!”

Hartley blinked again. “Already?”

“It’s very quick. It has to be, or else the Flash’s injuries could heal themselves wrong,” Caitlin said. “Alright, so, your fourth and fifth metacarpal bones have stable, transverse breaks. Easy enough to fix: we’ll put a plastic cast on to keep them stable and still, and they’ll be healed in about ten weeks.”

“Oh my God,” the Flash said. “Ten weeks? It literally took me, like, two hours to heal when I broke my hand on Tony.”

“Plus,” Caitlin continued, sounding like she was holding in a sigh, “some rehabilitation, to get the muscle back in shape when that’s over.”

“I’m really glad I have super-healing.”

“Go help Doctor Wells so I can take the blindfold off of him,” Caitlin grumbled.

The Flash laughed. “Yeah, alright,” he said. Hartley didn’t hear him walk away, however. He heard the Flash come closer. “Listen,” the Flash said, from somewhere to Caitlin’s left, “I wanted to thank you for what you did out there.”

Hartley blinked, forcing his hands not to clench. “You’ll have to figure out a way to avoid that weapon,” he said instead of anything else.

“Or,” the Flash continued, “maybe we actually can get Cisco to make you a suit.”

“Wells would skin us _all_ alive,” Cisco said, but he sounded amused. “It’d have to be green to match your gloves, though. Mostly green?” He sucked in a breath. “Or mostly black...”

He kept muttering as he wandered off and Caitlin actually did sigh. “Well, he won’t be out doing any heroics until his hand heals.”

“And my gloves work correctly,” Hartley offered, feeling very strange about the conversation taking place.

A hand gently came down on Hartley’s right shoulder, and he only barely kept from twitching. The rapid pulse in the wrist told Hartley it was the Flash. “See you later, Hartley. Get a good night’s rest.”

“Yeah,” Hartley said, listening as the Flash walked to where Wells and the two halves of FIRESTORM were running tests.

“Alright, he’s gone,” Caitlin said. “I’m going to remove the blindfold, so, brace yourself.”

Hartley closed his eyes, and the blindfold came off. The light through his eyelids was almost too bright, and he cringed away from it. His glasses were set into his right hand.

“Thank you,” Hartley said, carefully sliding his glasses on, and then slowly, slowly, blinked open his eyes.

Cisco and the Flash were gone. The red suit was draped over the center workstation, where Hartley could see the dozens of cuts, lined in blood. Caitlin was standing to his left, and one of the monitors had been adjusted to show Hartley the two breaks in his hand, just under the knuckles.

“Boxer’s fractures,” Caitlin said, nodding at the image. “Probably the most common of all fractures in the hands.”

Hartley winced. “It could have been worse,” he offered, glancing down at his still slightly swollen hand. “For some reason, the glove didn’t fully transfer the soundwaves out, and they reverberated back into my hand.” He shook his head. “It could have made my bones into powder.”

Caitlin winced. “We don’t have the technology to fix that kind of injury,” she said. “So, before you decide to leap out of vans in dark alleys, test them first?”

Hartley snorted. “Consider that lesson learned, Doctor Snow.”

Caitlin shook her head at him, picking up a large, plastic mitt from her rolling workbench. “It’s Caitlin, Hartley. If you want.”

Hartley blinked a few times. “I,” he started, but simply trailed off.

Caitlin smirked. “Not that I mind being called _Doctor Snow,_ ” she said, lifting her chin. “I spent good money to get those two letters in front of my name.”

She carefully moved Hartley hand into the black, plastic mitt, his pinky and ring finger forced into a slightly curled position, and the rest of his hand, and part of his wrist, were covered.

“And there we go,” Caitlin said, pulling her hands back. “And now I prescribe rest.”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t actually sound to bad.”

Hartley made his way to his feet while Caitlin tidied the area around them. An itch ran down Hartley’s arm and into his palm, and he frowned, wriggling his three free fingers. Caitlin looked at them and then at Hartley’s face.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Hartley sighed. “I already have an itch.”

She gave him a teasing grin. “That’s generally how it works, unfortunately. Come on, I’ll take you to the pipeline.”

The itch had turned into just a weird feeling in his palm by the time they were at the cell doors. Caitlin smiled as she passed Hartley his pajamas, and he nodded as he walked into the cell.

Which promptly beeped at him.

Hartley froze.

“Oh, you silly thing,” Caitlin was chiding the control screen. She looked over at Hartley and rolled her eyes. “It’s picking up your cast,” she said, and then turned back to the screen. “It’s not a _foreign material._ You were a medical scanner once, act like it!” She prodded the screen a few times, and the scanner stopped beeping. Finally, the glass door closed, and Caitlin smiled victoriously at Hartley. “Solved that one.”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “How did you do that?”

Caitlin glanced at the scanner. “I told it to ignore your cast, basically. That’ll fix it, and once the cast comes off, problem solved.”

“Doctor Snow,” came Wells’s voice, suddenly, through the speakers throughout STAR Labs, “I’d like to get your opinion on this, so, if you would, please come to the lab.”

Caitlin sighed. “The work is never done here,” she said. “Good night, Hartley.”

“Until tomorrow, Caitlin.”

Caitlin smiled even wider, and then, with a brief hesitation, closed the pipeline doors. The cell moved, pulling Hartley away from the entrance and towards the bathroom cell.

Once he was finished with his business (awkward with one hand), Hartley glanced at the waiting shower, and just felt suddenly and completely _exhausted._

The emotional struggle earlier in the day, fighting to save Ronnie and Stein from Wells’s quick-fix solution, to the actual _physical_ fight that had ended with Hartley breaking two bones.

Hartley looked down at his cast-covered hand, frowning at the lack of motion. Working on his gloves like this was going to be endlessly frustrating, he could feel it already. With a sigh, he rolled his shoulders, stretching his hands out above his head－

And something fell right on top of him.

It was tiny, and bounced off his scalp and to the floor with several tiny _tinks_ that seemed deafeningly loud. Hartley tried to follow it with his eyes, but he was scared to move, scared to draw attention to it, scared it had fallen down the shower drain. A shimmer of silver caught his gaze under the sink, on which his bag of pajamas was waiting, and Hartley slowly finished the stretch, lowering his arms.

He grabbed the white bag and, with a fumble from his broken hand, dropped his white nightshirt onto the floor. He snatched it back up, snagging the small silver bit in the process.

Hartley changed quickly, tucking the metal piece back into his cast as he did, and stepped back into his own cell. He waited until his cell had been moved back to it’s proper place along the pipeline wall, sitting in a corner with his pillow at his back and blanket around his legs. Only then did Hartley dare to let the metal slide back out and rest on his forearm, where it would look to the cameras like he was merely looking at his cast.

The silver piece was actually a sheered-off bit of screw from Hartley’s gloves. He recognized it at once. Useless in and of itself, but what it stood for, what it _meant_ －

Hartley could bring things into his cell, so long as the scanners were blocked by his cast. Escape was no longer just _possible._ Hartley _could._ Whenever he wanted to.

Whenever he _wanted_ to.

Hartley swallowed, letting the screw slide back into his cast, and looked out the glass doorway. He wanted to go. It wasn’t _safe._

But his gloves needed fixing. And the Expecto-No needed work. And he was still injured.

And they’d joked about making him a _suit._

Hartley pulled his glasses off his face and set them on the ground. He rested his forehead against the back of his right palm, letting his left drape at his side.

He’d had a _plan._ It had been a good plan.

And then _time-traveling dementors had ruined it._

Hartley allowed himself to slide down the wall, rest his head on the pillow and keeping his eyes closed. What should he do? What _should_ he do? He took a breath, letting his right hand fall away, and simply lay there.

Maybe simply knowing he _could_ would do for now.

He’d stay. Until he couldn’t anymore.

 

* * *

 

Caitlin enjoyed the quiet moments with Cisco. There weren’t many of them anymore, what with the meta-humans and the army and Barry, but when they could, they took advantage of them. Even when they were interrupted by Barry’s best friend-and-crush, Iris, who asked very pointed questions about lies that Caitlin could barely remember telling.

After Stein having been kidnapped, and then rescued, and then Ronnie and Stein leaving for Pittsburgh, Caitlin just wanted to enjoy her drink and not get shot at.

Except.

Caitlin watched Cisco fiddle with his empty coffee mug for another thirty seconds before she finally snapped.

“What is it?” she asked, clutching her own mug between her hands. At Cisco’s deer-in-headlights look, she narrowed her eyes. “Just spill.”

Cisco wavered, spinning the mug around, teetering it on its edge. Finally, he blurted, “Doctor Wells is being a real dick to Hartley, and it’s my fault, and I’m feeling guilty about it.”

Caitlin blinked.

Cisco sighed, releasing the mug, and slouched back into his chair. “It’s obvious he’s trying to punish _me_ for taking Hartley out of the labs in the first place, but, I’m not the one really suffering here. Hartley is.”

Caitlin couldn’t really deny it. Hartley had seemed resigned but understanding yesterday, when she’d come down to just give him breakfast and a change of clothes, but not take him into the lab. Today, though, when she’d had to do the same thing, there had been anger in his expression, but he’d been perfectly polite with her.

“To be fair to Doctor Wells,” she began, slowly, “Hartley _did_ attack him at his home. He could have been badly injured.”

Cisco huffed, staring at the ceiling. “We’ve both seen Hartley using those gloves now,” he muttered. “If Hartley had wanted Doctor Wells dead...”

He would be dead. Doctor Wells was in a wheelchair, and his house had been full of glass and windows. It would have taken nothing for Hartley to break in, kill Doctor Wells, and then go. Still.

“It’s not like he and Doctor Wells have become more _friendly_ while Hartley’s been in the pipeline,” Caitlin said. “Maybe Doctor Wells is just worried Hartley will try again if he escapes.”

Cisco sighed, deeper than before. “And that’s the other thing,” he muttered, looking at Caitlin. “This whole pipeline prison thing isn’t working.”

Caitlin frowned. “Yes it is?” she said, confused. “We haven’t had any escapes, and none of them have injured any of us while they’ve been there, and－”

“And we haven’t even begun to rehabilitate them,” Cisco griped. “Except if you count Hartley, but, that’s because he was useful.”

Caitlin spread her hands. “What are you saying? That we let them go?”

Cisco rubbed his hands over his face again. “I don’t know. No. Myst and Weather Wizard will just try to kill Joe, and that’s a team-up no one wants to see. Peek-A-Boo will just flee across the country, which, well, bad, but, not really registering on the threat scale.”

“Then, what?” Caitlin asked. She’d had her own doubts about their set up, especially when there was a possibility that Ronnie would be placed there. But what alternative did they have? The police weren’t equipped for meta-humans.

“I don’t _know,_ ” Cisco actually whined. “I just wish we were fighting bad guys, and that I didn’t have to clean out the toilets of the supervillains we keep in the basement?”

A passing customer glanced at them, and Caitlin let out a forced laughed, and Cisco smiled too-wide. “Great joke, Cisco,” Caitlin said enthusiastically.

“Ha, you know me,” he said, eyes flicking to the person as they walked away, and he slowly deflated as they left earshot, “always kidding around....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations :**
> 
>  
> 
> Ach du lieber  
> \- German; _Oh my dear; generally followed by ‘Gott’ (God)._


	5. Rogue (Out of) Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …What do you mean I’m missing an episode???
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who's been reading along! I've been in a bit of a writing slump for the past couple of weeks, and getting your comments and kudos has helped a lot. Thank you.

Hartley was a little distracted that morning.

It had taken almost two weeks for Wells to let him back into the lab. _Two weeks._ And Hartley was convinced the only reason it happened at all was because Cisco had dragged a rolling workstation and chair down to the pipeline entrance and _sat there_ for the whole second week. Hartley was very thankful to Cisco for getting him out, but he knew he had to do something. There had to be a way to get the batteries and wires from under his workstation and into his cell. The fact that the scanners no longer worked on his cast had to be good for _something._

If Wells could put him on lockdown whenever he pleased, Hartley might never escape.

Another problem was that Wells was a paranoid _ass._ Simply keeping all of the materials in his cell wasn’t an option, because the cells were swapped out while they bathed. And slowly modifying Hartley’s hearing dampeners wouldn’t work either: they were made with short battery lives－a week－and also had to be swapped out. Anything Hartley did had to be movable, hidden from the scanners and cameras, and be used almost immediately.

On top of all of that, the Flash was already in the lab that morning, leaning against the center console, and was just _staring_ at him. He seemed to be waiting for something, for a sign, and Hartley had to force himself to look at the Expecto-No in front of him. Nervously, he tapped his plastic hand-cast against his workstation.

“Is everything alright, Mister Rathaway?” Wells asked, coolly. He was sitting in the middle of the control room, surrounded by images of the Mardon Brothers－bank robbers turned _storm sorcerers._

Hartley froze. He hadn’t just thought that.

Oh no.

He was turning into _Cisco._

“Perfectly fine,” Hartley drawled, just as cool, and tried to worm a finger down the palm of his hand-cast. “Cisco and Caitlin are walking down the hall now.”

Talking about a birthday party for Cisco’s brother, it seemed.

“I’m rescinding your invite,” Cisco declared as they entered the lab, Caitlin mock-pouting at his side. Cisco looked around, slurping on his cherry-red slushie. He grinned at the Flash, who stared wide-eyed back. After a few awkward seconds, he looked away and his eyes landed on Hartley. Cisco nodded at him. “I’m taking Hartley instead.”

Hartley stared. “What?”

The Flash looked oddly miserable, and Wells looked like someone had put lemon in his coffee. Caitlin just looked amused.

Cisco was already nodding. “That’s the perfect expression,” he said, walking around the front control panel. “You could just follow me around and stare condescendingly at people. It would be great.”

“Or I could follow you around and stare condescendingly at _you,_ ” Hartley drawled. He pulled his finger free of the cast, and both it and his palm throbbed.

Caitlin grinned. “Baby pictures, Hartley. Tiny Cisco with short hair!”

“Mister Rathaway is not going on any field trips,” Wells grumbled. “Not for the foreseeable future.”

Caitlin and Cisco shot each other narrowed looks, and Cisco sighed. “We know, Doctor Wells,” he said, and slouched to his monitor. “It was a joke.”

Doctor Wells stared at Cisco a moment longer before letting out a soft sigh, and turned back to the monitors. “Anyway,” he said, gesturing to the faces on the screens. “This is our newest meta-human problem, which, as it turns out, is also an old one.”

Caitlin frowned, walking closer to the monitors. “That’s Clyde Mardon,” she said. She turned, looking over at the Flash. “So he has a brother?”

The Flash nodded, eyes sliding over to Wells.

Wells steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Both brothers survived the plane crash,” he said, eyes on the screen, “and the dark matter released from the particle accelerator explosion affected them both in－”

“－Virtually the same way,” the Flash said with him, watching Wells.

Wells’s eyes were wide as he stared back. “Precisely,” he uttered.

The Flash blinked, and then looked out across the lab, eyes bouncing to Hartley, checking in, and then drifted across the room. “Except Mark is… is so much stronger. The things he can do…”

Cisco’s face broke into a grin. “You mean he’s sort of like a－”

“－Weather Wizard?” came the Flash’s echo.

Hartley frowned, intrigued, eyes darting up briefly. Except he had to turn the Expecto-No gun on, to test that the power was, in fact, correctly wired. There was a loud slurping noise, followed by Cisco’s pained whine. Hartley ignored it, propping the Expecto-No on the back of his plastic hand cast and readied the switch.

“Trigeminal headache?” came both Caitlin and the Flash’s voices.

Wells cleared his throat. “Flash－”

“Hartley stop!”

The Flash’s voice rang out like a shot, and Hartley went stiff. Suddenly, the Expecto-No was plucked from his hand by a blur, and Hartley spun around in his chair, indignation rising up in him. “What do you think you’re doing?” Hartley snapped, feeling his cheeks heat.

The Flash stood in the doorway, holding the Expecto-No, eyes wide. “Uh,” he began, looking down at it. In the control room, Wells was sitting very still, and both Cisco and Caitlin looked baffled. Finally, the Flash held the Expecto-No out to Hartley, swallowing.

“Check the trigger mechanism,” he said. “There’s too much pressure. If you turn it on, it’ll fire uncontrollably.”

“Flash,” Wells called, a little desperately.

Hartley ignored him, looking instead at the Expecto-No, and checked that the switch was still off. Then he propped it on his black cast again, pointing towards the glass wall, and tried to depress the trigger.

It didn’t budge. The trigger was preemptively pressed, set to constantly fire. An almost costly mistake.

“That would have ended poorly,” Hartley said in a blank tone, carefully setting the Expecto-No down. There would have been no way to turn it off－the switch charged the machine, and until it was out of power, the gun would have kept firing. They would have had to destroy it.

Cisco was shaking it head. “I couldn’t even tell there was something off all the way over here, and I’ve worked on that thing for weeks.”

The Flash stared at Cisco, then at Hartley, then at Caitlin. He swallowed.

Wells leaned forward in his chair. “Don’t－”

“Guys, I think I time-traveled,” the Flash said, and Wells let out a pained groan.

Cisco _shrieked._ “No _way._ Already?!”

Hartley stared, mouth agape. “I blew up the lab in a previous timeline?”

The Flash nodded. “Dude, it was a nightmare. You had to use your gloves on the gun.”

Caitlin shook her head. “But, wait,” she started, brow furrowed. “Where’s _our_ Flash?” Her eyes narrowed. “How far did you travel?”

“Stop!” Wells shouted, snapping the Flash’s attention to him. “Everyone _shut up._ ” When it was quiet, he took a breath and pointed at the Flash. “Only the first question,” he demanded. “The less we know about the events of the future, the less likely we are to cause a tear in reality.”

The Flash blinked. “Is that a possibility? Should I be worried about that?” His eyes grew wide. “What about the dementors? Is there one chasing me?!”

There was a flurry of movement as Cisco began to type at his monitor. “Well, we’re not picking up any of their signals near here.”

Hartley gestured to his gloves, sitting perfect and at the ready to his right. “Plus, I have you covered,” he said. Then he hummed. “And if there were, it would just be a good opportunity to test more frequencies.”

Cisco’s eyebrows rose. “Is it wrong that I sorta want to run into another one, just because of that?”

Caitlin sighed in disgust. “ _Boys,_ ” she grumbled, and then turned back to the Flash. “Where’s the other Flash?”

The Flash sighed. “There isn’t one?” he said. He spread his hands. “Look, during the last… today, I saw… myself, running beside… myself.”

Wells frowned. “That could have been a－”

“Speed mirage, I know,” the Flash said, raising his eyebrows. “But when it happened this time, it was while I was running faster than I ever had before, something _happened,_ and then I was there during that exact moment. And the other Flash－me－disappeared.”

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “That’s… I understood very little of that.”

“I took my old-self’s place, I guess,” the Flash said. Then he cringed. “So what causes there to be more than one of the same person in a timeline? What made me replace myself instead of simply appearing beside myself?”

“Intent, perhaps,” Wells offered, quietly. “The length of time one travels back?”

The Flash nodded, slowly. “It’s only been, like, a day for me.” He paused. “A really, really bad day. With some good? But mostly bad－”

“ _Stop,_ ” Wells said again, drawing out the word. “We have to preserve the timeline as best we can.” He gestured to Hartley. “No more of that, alright? You don’t know what chain of events you could cause to tumble down.”

The Flash grit his teeth. “But, Doctor Wells, Mardon－”

“I don’t want to know,” Wells said, turning his wheelchair away from him. He spun his arm around his head as he moved out of the lab and towards the hall. “And neither should any of you!”

Wells wasn’t even gone ten seconds before Cisco turned to the Flash. “Dude, _I_ wanna know.”

Caitlin hissed at him. “Cisco, you heard Doctor Wells. If the Flash tells us, then that could influence our actions in unforeseen ways, altering the timeline.”

“The Future-Flash has already altered the timeline,” Cisco grumbled. “The world hasn’t ended yet.”

The Flash winced. “To be fair, I didn’t see a whole lot of you guys yester- _today._ ”

Hartley smirked. “Thanks for the head’s up, Flash.”

The Flash’s eyes grew wide, and he slammed a hand over his mouth. “Nope,” came his muffled reply. “Gotta go to work. Bye!”

He was gone in a blaze of yellow lightning. Cisco turned around and scowled fiercely at Hartley. “Seriously?” he whined.

Hartley smirked. “Please,” he drawled. “The Flash gave up _enough_ information. Besides,” he continued, “there is no chance that the Flash doesn’t do something to completely alter the timeline, rendering that information utterly _useless._ ”

“Come on,” Caitlin said, when Cisco began to slowly nod. “You have to have a little more faith in the Flash than that.”

“I give him two hours,” Hartley said.

“That much time? We’re gonna see him before the end of _this_ hour.”

“You guys!”

Twenty minutes later, when the Flash called in on his comms, Caitlin sighed like she was deflating.

“I’m bringing in Mardon,” he said, when Cisco answered the line. Wells buried his face in his hands.

Hartley snorted, from where he was taking apart the Expecto-No to fix the trigger’s issue. “Oh excellent. A new roommate.”

Cisco, who’d been trying to design a device to basically ground the Weather Wizard’s abilities, let out a low groan. “And I was right. Not even eleven o’clock yet.”

Caitlin smirked. “And my, look at how _free_ your afternoon is now.”

Cisco groaned, louder that time. He moved away from the control panel, but not before saying into the comm, “Heading down to the pipeline to set up a cell.”

All of them went to see this travesty of timeline-management, although Hartley pulled his turtleneck and hood up to obscure his face. Cisco had the door open for a second, before the Flash blurred past their group, forward and back, and the door was snapping shut as the blond man from the mugshots was stumbling around the cell, dazed.

“What?” Mark Mardon said, facing the back of the cell first, stunned. He blinked, looking around, and then caught sight of the group standing just outside the door, the Flash at their head. His face transformed from confusion to rage in a moment. “How _dare you!_ ” he roared, pouncing forward, fist pounding on the glass. “I am like a _God!_ ”

Cisco’s eyes widened. “Yikes,” he muttered under his breath.

“When I break out of here,” the Weather Wizard continued howling, “I’m gonna create a tidal wave that destroys your _entire city!_ ”

“And that’s enough of that,” Cisco said, closing the door on more of Mardon’s ravings. Cisco waited for the door to close before raising an eyebrow at the Flash. “So, tidal wave?”

The Flash nodded, offering a small smile. “Yup.”

Cisco nodded his head to the side. “I don’t think STAR Labs is covered for that kind of water damage.”

“C’mon, Cisco,” Caitlin said, grabbing his arm and tugging him along. “You’ve got no excuse to avoid that party now.”

Cisco sighed, allowing Caitlin to drag him away. “I can’t believe time travel _wrecked_ my day. That’s not fair.” He raised his hand in parting. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

Hartley raised his hand in return, while the Flash offered a louder, “Later!”

As Cisco and Caitlin disappeared around the corner, Wells closed his eyes. “Do you know what you’ve just done?” he asked, deathly quiet.

The Flash simply looked back at him. “I made Cisco go to his brother’s birthday party,” he said, a little sharp. “And I saved _a lot of people,_ Doctor Wells.”

“Yes,” Wells said, eyes narrow, “but who now dies to pay that price?”

The Flash scowled at him, and Wells gestured for him to follow. “If you’re so keen on messing with this,” Wells said, moving back towards the labs, “the least we can do is test it scientifically. Mister Rathaway, you too.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with the Flash, before continuing after him, freeing his face from the quick disguise.

“And what is it you want me to do?” Hartley drawled, letting his injured hand hang.

Wells raised an eyebrow. “Well, with the Flash deciding to play with the timeline,” he said, and the Flash glared at his back, “I figured it would be best to keep working on Cisco’s gun.”

“He calls it the Expecto-No,” the Flash grumped.

Wells smiled, over his shoulder at them. “That he does,” he said, and led them back to the labs.

Fixing the trigger for the Expecto-No turned out to be simple: a wire had shifted into the trigger space, and had gotten jammed in when the outer casing of the Expecto-No was completed. That Hartley hadn’t noticed it said much about his level of distraction over the past month.

With the wire replaced and moved, and the casing put back together, the Expecto-No Patr _unos_ was ready for testing.

By anyone other than Hartley.

“Cisco can do it,” Wells said, as they both sat on the other side of the Flash’s testing room, watching him run on a treadmill, of all things. Wells had his wheelchair pulled close to the controls, while Hartley was sitting further away, so that his magnetic handcuffs wouldn’t interfere with the readings.

Hartley scowled. “You do realize this is simply a proof of concept,” he argued, gesturing at the gun sitting ahead of Wells on the panel. “This doesn’t have the anti-dem…” Hartley paused. “The correct frequency isn’t programmed into it, and that that frequency probably won’t function with these amplifiers.”

“I am aware,” Wells said, still not looking his way. “I simply don’t trust you.”

Hartley wiggled the three free fingers of his broken hand. “You say _‘trust’_ , but you mean _‘control’_.”

Wells chuckled, finally looking Hartley’s way. “I was never able to control you, Hartley,” he said, pulling off his glasses. “All I ever could do, is point you in a direction, and watch you work. Sort of like this weapon.” He rested a hand on the Expecto-No, and Hartley realized that, mere proof of concept or no, it could _kill him._ “Point and shoot. Only a single point of external manipulation－adjusting the frequency－and then let you do what you _do._ ”

Hartley swallowed.

“And when you no longer shot properly, well.” Wells tilted his head to the side. “I found a different gun.”

There was a beep from the panel, drawing Wells’s attention, and Hartley tried to suck in a deep breath. He shut his eyes, focusing on calming his racing heart. He held his left hand closer to his chest.

“That’s his new highest recorded speed,” Wells said, slipping his glasses back on. He turned back to Hartley, who kept his face blank. “We should go congratulate him.”

He grabbed the Expecto-No and rolled out of the observation room as the Flash started to slow down. Hartley, guardedly, followed.

The Flash sighed, hopping off the treadmill and spreading his hands. “I don’t get it,” he said, looking back at the treadmill. “I’m going just as fast as I’d been with the tidal wave－”

Wells let out an annoyed noise. “Flash－”

“Sorry,” the Flash said, wincing. “So it can’t just be a speed thing.”

Hartley cleared his throat. “If,” he began, just a vanishing trace of a rasp to his voice, “as theorized, spacetime moves in waves, perhaps the moments that you jumped to and from were relatively _close together,_ and your speed was enough to break through.”

The Flash blinked. “That’d explain why I saw a double of myself, if the, er, moments were close enough,” he said. Then he sighed. “But not why there’s only _one_ of me this time.”

Wells spread his hands. “It could be any number of things. Your mental state, the circumstances of the time travel, atmospheric conditions.” He huffed. “From what you’ve told me of that day－please stop doing so－your adrenaline levels would have been very elevated.”

The Flash snorted. “Yeah, that’s a fair assessment.”

Detective Joe West was a common enough figure in STAR Labs that Hartley was able to tell when it was his tactical shoes walking in, which was why he didn’t jump when Joe knocked on the metal back door of the testing room.

“Joe!” the Flash chirped. And then he glanced at Hartley. “Ah, I mean, Detective West.” His voice had lowered, and his back straightened. “What brings you here?”

Joe had an eyebrow raised in obvious amusement, as if trying to say, _‘Really?’_ Instead, he leaned his head to the side. “I just stopped by to ask _when_ you were gonna tell me you’d caught Mark Mardon?”

Wells let out a long sigh as the Flash’s eyes grew wide. “Ah,” he started. “I just, um.”

“That’d be our fault,” Hartley offered, drawing Joe’s attention. Hartley gestured at the treadmill. “Cisco managed to find a way to track his atmospheric disturbances, and the Flash went and got him.” Hartley shrugged. “We got sidetracked when the Flash mentioned seeing a speed mirage as he ran. We were attempting to replicate the situation.”

Joe frowned at him. “You could have just said, _‘Sorry, we got distracted with science.’_ ”

“Sorry,” the Flash said, grinning. “We got distracted with science.”

Joe shook his head. “Well, at least that whole thing is over with,” he said.

There was a low buzzing noise, and Hartley frowned. “Someone’s cell phone is going off back in the labs.”

The Flash blinked. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, shoot, Linda,” he said. He looked at the three of them, hands spread. “I gotta go. I have a lunch date－”

“Bye,” Joe said, amused, and Wells waved him off.

Hartley shook his head, and the Flash blurred out of the room. Joe waited a moment before turning to look at Wells, and then Hartley. “Alright, so, are either one of you going to tell me what’s _really_ going on with him?”

“Science,” Hartley said.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Joe said, and turned to Wells.

Wells just smiled at him. “Science,” he repeated, and then gestured at Hartley. “Could you escort Mister Rathaway to the pipeline? I’ll be there momentarily.”

Hartley fought the urge to stare at Wells. It wasn’t even _noon._

“Are you heading home early?” Joe asked, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

Wells shrugged. “Everyone else is gone,” he said. “And Mister Rathaway has finished his work for the day.”

Hartley had no desire to rehash their previous conversation, and instead kept quiet.

Joe shrugged, reaching out and grabbing Hartley’s upper arm. Hartley clenched his jaw. “I can do that,” Joe said, and followed Wells as they left the testing lab, Hartley trudging silently beside him. Wells went left down the curved hallway, and Joe took them right, and towards the pipeline.

They were silent for several feet. Then, “You can hear him if he’s coming, right?” Joe uttered, lips barely moving.

Hartley sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” he hissed, watching Joe out of the corner of his eye. Hartley’s hearing made it difficult, sometimes, to judge when he was whispering too softly for normal ears.

Joe’s head twitched in the briefest of nods.

“Do you have information on him?” Joe breathed.

Hartley’s stomach lurched, and his mouth went dry.

“I can see it when you look at him,” Joe continued, turning a numb Hartley towards the pipeline doors. “I’ve seen that look in people’s eyes, living in bad neighborhoods. You know something.”

Hartley closed his eyes. He breathed. He said nothing.

“And you aren’t safe here.”

“No,” Hartley finally whispered. “He’s coming.”

The faint whir of the chair’s motor was still a ways off, but, Hartley was trapped in a metal box, where only six people knew he was. If he went suddenly missing, would anyone think it wasn’t because he’d escaped?

Maybe one of them would.

“How long until you get that cast removed?” Joe finally asked, gruff, annoyed, playing the part of the cop who had far better things to do than drag around a would-be criminal mastermind.

Hartley scowled, right fist clenching. “Another few weeks,” he ground out. He had only that long to discover how to transport his batteries and wires to his cell, and then keep them hidden there.

Joe grunted, and then he turned his head, the motor much louder now.

“Everything go alright?” Wells asked, coming into the entrance-way.

Joe shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Some of my friends at Iron Heights could learn from you about keeping your inmates calm and well behaved.”

Hartley glared at Joe out of the corner of his eye, and lowered the glare to Wells. Wells just seemed amused.

“Work programs certainly seemed to be a key factor in Mister Rathaway’s case,” Wells replied, modest. Which meant it was a lie.

Joe removed Hartley’s magnetic cuffs and Hartley found himself quickly back into his cell. He stood at the center, and kept his eyes on Wells the entire time.

There were no partings exchanged, and the doors were simply closed.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast didn’t come on time the next morning.

For an hour, Hartley panicked that Wells had finally _snapped,_ or that he’d heard the conversation between Joe and Hartley, and now Hartley was going to be left to starve to death, along with the other meta-humans.

The next hour, Hartley _planned._

When Caitlin finally opened his cell, looking frazzled and wide-eyed, Hartley was about ready to punch his way to freedom.

“I am so sorry,” Caitlin babbled. “It was Cisco’s job to feed everyone and get you, but, he didn’t show up, and I can’t get a hold of him on his cell phone.”

That tempered Hartley’s anger. “Cisco’s missing?” he asked, as Caitlin put the magnetic cuffs on him.

Caitlin sighed, throwing her hands into the air. “I don’t know. Doctor Wells came in late today, too, and _he_ can’t reach Cisco either.”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “Have you tried the Flash?”

Caitlin blew out a breath and sent Hartley’s cell back into the pipeline, closing the metal doors. “Doctor Wells said he would try calling him, but that we shouldn’t worry just yet.”

Her obvious irritation, especially at Wells, had Hartley alert. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“The birthday party,” Caitlin started, and then just shook her head. “It was really miserable for him,” she said. “His parents play favorites.”

Ah. Family issues. Hartley could understand that. “Admittedly, I spent as little time as possible with Cisco, but, he didn’t miss work all that often when I worked here.”

“Which is why I’m worried,” Caitlin said, leading Hartley towards the lab. “I’m hoping the Flash will know something, when _he_ gets here.”

At the lab, Wells looked unconcerned with their missing scientist, blandly tapping away at his tablet. Caitlin frowned at him before gesturing at Hartley’s workstation. “I figured you could have breakfast in here, since we took so long.”

A bag of takeout was sitting there, and Hartley nodded to Caitlin. “Thank you.” 

As Hartley began to pull a breakfast burrito and triangle-shaped hash browns from the bag, Wells cleared his throat. 

“Mister Rathaway,” he said, and Hartley raised his gaze, meeting his eyes through the glass. Wells lifted his hand, and the Expecto-No was in his grip. “Since Cisco didn’t come to work this morning, I took the duty of testing this myself.”

Hartley waited, biting into the burrito.

Wells gave him a bland look. “It works,” he said, once a few seconds had passed. “Now you just need to configure it for the－dementor.”

Hartley, chewing, simply held up his burrito and stared back at him.

Wells sighed. “After your breakfast.”

It was another twenty minutes before Hartley heard the thrum of the Flash’s heartbeat, but it wasn’t coming as fast as Hartley was used to it traveling. He turned his head towards the doorway, frowning, and set down the rawhide mallet he’d been using.

Caitlin, who’d been typing out Mark Mardon’s meal plan, noticed. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you hear Cisco?”

“No,” Hartley said, brow furrowing. “The Flash is… walking to work.”

__

That had Wells’s head snapping up. “Walking?”

__

Hartley nodded, tilting his head slightly. “Yes. Walking.”

__

Wells had instantly pulled his cellphone out, and Caitlin went to stand in the hallway.

__

Hartley eyed his mallet－specially used to work metal without denting or harming it－and then eyed his plastic hand cast.

__

“Are you alright?” Wells was saying on the phone, and Hartley turned his broken hand over, looking at it from all angles.

__

_“What?”_ the Flash said, sounding a little out of it over the phone. _“I mean, yeah, I guess? Why? Is something wrong?”_

__

Wells looked up at Hartley, and Hartley waved his cast at his ear. Then he went back to tapping the front of the Expecto-No off: the wavelengths his frequency data was suggesting they use would need one of a different material, or risk the weapon shattering apart.

__

“Hartley could hear you coming,” Wells said, flatly. “He said you were walking.”

__

_“…I am?”_

__

“ _Why?_ ”

__

There was a long, sad sigh at the other end of the line. _“I just needed the time to think.”_

__

Hartley let out a snort, and Caitlin furrowed her brow at him. Hartley shook his head. “I think the Flash is having _girl trouble._ ”

__

Caitlin blinked, and then cringed. “Oh,” she muttered. Then she turned away from the door and looked at Wells. “Ask him if he’s heard from Cisco!”

__

Wells nodded, rubbing at one eye. “Flash,” he began, “we were also wondering if you’d heard from Cisco today. He didn’t show up for work, and isn’t answering any of our calls.”

__

The Flash let out a small chuckle. _“Well, that answers the question_ I _had for him.”_

__

“Which was?” Wells asked.

__

_“If he had a good time with the hot girl who chatted him up last night at the bar.”_

__

“You’re _joking,_ ” Hartley declared, head snapping up. Wells also looked unimpressed, but more amused than Hartley did. Caitlin shook her head.

__

“What?” she hissed.

__

Hartley rolled his eyes. “Cisco apparently is having the complete opposite of girl trouble.”

__

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, and then bit her lip. “Not calling, though. That’s still very strange for him…”

__

Hartley just shook his head again and went back to work.

__

The Flash arrived a few minutes later, walking down the hall and then blurring the last few feet to get his suit on before Hartley saw him. It was beginning to get a bit irritating, especially since Hartley could probably figure out who the Flash was with five minutes and an internet connection.

__

“Weather Wizard giving you any trouble?” the Flash asked.

__

Caitlin shook her head. “He’s loud, and angry, but he can’t do more than blow some wind.”

__

The Flash nodded. “Well, that’s good news at least,” he said, and then his cell phone began buzzing. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen, and then answered. “Hey J－Detective West, how are you?” he stuttered, glancing Hartley’s way.

__

Hartley stared right back at him, and rolled his eyes.

__

_“Could be better,”_ Joe said. _“Snart’s back.”_

__

The Flash’s quick heartbeat pulsed. “What? _Cold_ is back?” He turned and looked at Wells, who’s expression had gone blank, and Caitlin’s nose wrinkled. Hartley glanced up briefly and then went back to fitting the new, narrower, beak-like front on the Expecto-No Patro _dos._

__

Because Cisco had corrupted him.

__

_“Yup, and he was spotted at the Santini crime family casino,”_ Joe said. _“If he’s hitting the Santinis, this could be the beginning of a mob war.”_

__

The Flash quietly hung up, and turned to look at Wells. Wells just smiled at him, a little smug. “Well, this day just keeps getting _better,_ doesn’t it?”

__

The Flash frowned back at him, setting his cellphone onto the control station. “Cold’s hitting the Santini’s casino,” he said, and Wells was quickly typing away. The Flash shook his head. “Honestly, I didn’t know－”

__

“Go, Flash,” Wells said, flicking his eyes up. “You’ve already set this in motion. There’s nothing more to do than play it out.”

__

The Flash’s jaw tensed, and then he blurred away. Caitlin sighed, brow furrowing in concern.

__

“Cisco,” she muttered under her breath, “where are you?”

__

Hartley turned back to the gun. Then he looked at the mallet. And then he looked at his left hand. He cringed, and kept tapping off the nozzle.

__

There were a series of whooshing sounds from the comm system, along with a strange charging noise that Hartley couldn’t place.

__

_“How many times are we gonna go through this, Snart?”_ the Flash called.

__

_“Until the best man wins!”_ the man who must have been Captain Cold replied. 

__

There was another whoosh. _“Drop the gun!”_ the Flash called, and Hartley sighed. How boring.

__

_“We both know you’re not gonna do anything to her,”_ Cold said, and there was a note in his voice that had Hartley growing tense. _“By the way, Flash, meet my baby sister.”_

__

Hartley raised his head. “Was there a _villain family reunion convention_ in town and I just wasn’t notified?”

__

“Shh!” Caitlin hissed.

__

Hartley went back to banging on the metal.

__

Then Cold said, _“Cisco has been very, very busy.”_

__

And Hartley slammed his mallet down onto his cast in shock.

__

He shouted in pain and surprise as the plastic cracked, and he dropped the mallet to the floor.

__

He hadn’t－that was an accident－he’d thought but never meant－

__

“Hartley, are you okay?!”

__

Caitlin had come to his side, kneeling. Parts of the plastic cast had been knocked off by the force of Hartley’s blow, and the skin of his left hand was darkly bruised. Hartley closed his eyes again, listening, and slowly moved his fingers. “Nothing’s broken,” he said through gritted teeth, reopening his eyes. “Or, _more_ broken, I should say.”

__

Caitlin carefully peeled off the remaining pieces of black plastic. Some of the shards had cut him, not deeply, but he could see the blood smeared over his palm.

__

Hartley took in a breath. “Does Cold actually have Cisco?”

__

Caitlin bit her lip, helping Hartley rise to his feet. “He claimed to,” she said, leading him over to where the medical supplies were kept. They were usually only needed by the Flash, but Hartley was proving to be a tad injury-prone. She put on gloves, and then gently cleaned his hand and applied bandages. “Doctor Wells is checking the traffic cams to see if it’s true, and the Flash is going to check with Joe.”

__

And Hartley could do _nothing._

__

Caitlin swallowed heavily. “When they had me,” she began slowly, as she carefully began to put another plastic cast on him, a dark blue this time, “they strapped me to a bomb.” Her eyes were distant when she looked up at him. “I can’t stop thinking… about what they might’ve done to Cisco.”

__

Hartley stared at her, mouth opened slightly. _‘I was going to kill your friend,’_ he thought. _‘I still could.’_

__

“L'espoir fait vivre,” he said, and Caitlin cracked a small smile.

__

“There is the Flash,” she said, quietly. Her face hardened, and she nodded. “And us.”

__

Hartley frowned. “And _you,_ ” he said. “ _I_ can’t _breathe_ on a computer with these on.” He lifted both his wrists, showing off the magnetic cuffs. “Plus, I have three usable fingers on my left hand.”

__

Caitlin glanced over at Wells, who was typing at the center panel. She nodded and then turned back to Hartley. “Go clean your workstation,” she said, firm. “I’ll talk to him.”

__

Hartley simply raised his eyebrows at her. “I wish you luck with that,” he said, a touch snide.

__

Caitlin raised her nose. “Vouloir, c'est pouvoir,” she told him. Then, with the air of a woman on a mission, she turned marched toward Wells.

__

Hartley moved, instead, to his lab space. The plastic cast hadn’t quite shattered when he had struck it, but it had broken into a few large pieces. The majority of the cast was lying on top of the workstation, and he gathered it into a pile.

__

“You want me to remove his handcuffs.”

__

“Doctor Wells, I want you to let him help.”

__

The rest of the cast was lying on the floor. Including the almost-whole finger portion.

__

Which was _perfect._

__

“Do you know what he could _do_ with access to our network, Doctor Snow?”

__

“Yes, I do. He could _find Cisco._ ”

__

Hartley slid under his desk and looked at the two bits of gum stuck under there. The wires and batteries were still in place, although very, _very_ stuck. He managed to pull the wires free, with just a little bit of wiggling, and slid them into the finger casing.

__

The batteries did not want to move.

__

“Hartley?”

__

Caitlin was coming towards his lab. Hartley looked around, panicked, and then saw it: the rawhide mallet, sitting by the legs of his chair. He grabbed it and, with a few quick taps, had the gum peeled off the bottom of the desk, and dropped it into the empty finger.

__

It was done.

__

“Hartley, are you alright?”

__

The finger casing was hidden against his palm, held in place by the free fingers of his left hand, and Hartley raised the leather mallet as he moved himself out from under there. “I almost lost the mallet,” he said, and turned slowly to look at Caitlin. There was annoyance in her pinched mouth, and he raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t go well, I take it.”

__

Caitlin sighed. “He’ll take the cuffs off,” she began, “but only once the Flash is here.” 

__

Hartley stared. “That’s actually better than I expected from him.”

__

Caitlin shrugged her shoulders. “It’s Cisco,” she said, looking over her shoulder. There, Wells was completely absorbed at the keyboard, screen reflected in his glasses. She looked back at Hartley, as if to say, _‘See?’_

__

Hartley didn’t know what she saw－a mentor desperately trying to find his ward, or a father searching for his son－but all Hartley could see was a man trying to find one of his most useful tools. Hartley was dangerous to him in several ways, and trying to have Hartley replace Cisco would be foolish on his part.

__

No, Wells _needed_ Cisco. For now.

__

Just then, the Flash came blurring into the lab. He was glaring at the ground, obviously seething, and the left side of his face that wasn’t hidden by the mask was puffy and red. Caitlin rushed out of Hartley’s lab, and he took the distraction to scratch the back of his head, and gently dropped the finger cast into his hood.

__

“Did Snart get you?” Wells said, coming around the center console.

__

The Flash’s eyes snapped shut, jaw clenching. “No,” he said. “Eddie did.”

__

Hartley walked around to the other side of the lab’s glass wall and glanced at Caitlin, hoping for a clue. Caitlin only looked startled as she took in what was now obviously the early signs of a fist-shaped bruise on the Flash’s face.

__

“ _Eddie?_ ” she asked. “Iris’s _boyfriend_ Eddie?”

__

The Flash just looked even more miserable. “Yeah,” he said. He blinked a few times. “I think,” he started, looking lost, “I think I messed up.”

__

Wells sighed, and gestured at Caitlin. “Please get the Flash an ice pack, Caitlin,” he said, and then turned to look at Hartley. “The traffic cameras only had one picture of the car, and the license plate was iced over. I couldn’t read it.”

__

Hartley narrowed his eyes, leaning back against the glass. “Could you tell what the make of the car was? The year?”

__

Wells moved to another keyboard, and the screens around the lab lit up, showing Cisco and a blonde woman getting into a BMW of sorts. Hartley narrowed his eyes, thinking, and then they snapped wide open.

__

“I know the car,” he said.

__

Wells stared. “Year and model?”

__

“Yes,” Hartley said, and then thrust out his hands. “Get these off me so I can find him.”

__

Wells didn’t hesitate a second more, quickly running his fingers over the fingerprint scanners to open the cuffs on his arms. “The ones on your legs stay,” Wells said, firmly. “They have no interrupting signal.”

__

Hartley nodded and leapt for the nearest keyboard, not bothering to even sit. 

__

The Flash winced as Caitlin pressed the cold compress to his face. “You can tell what kind of car that is just by looking at that blurry picture?”

__

Hartley turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “An old boyfriend of mine had one,” he offered, waving his blue-coated hand through the air. “I can tell by the grille, the way the lights are positioned.”

__

“How does that help?” Caitlin asked.

__

Hartley frowned at the screen. “Each car company uses their own paint color and mixtures for each car,” he said. “This car is the Orion Silver Metallic.” He pulled up the STAR Labs satellite and began to code it. “Every color has its own wavelength. If we set the satellite to find the specific wavelength of the color－”

__

“You’ll find the car,” Wells said.

__

“It’s hardly a guarantee, however,” Hartley said. “Colors change and fade through the years. I’ve had to broaden the search parameters.”

__

The Flash frowned. “I’ll search car by car if I have to,” he said, still holding the cold compress.

__

It took several minutes for Hartley to get into the right areas of the network, to work out the paint’s color wavelength, to configure the satellite to scan for that specific wavelength. Caitlin was running her own scans, looking at thermography to look for abnormally hot (or cold) warehouses.

__

Hartley tapped a few more bits of code into the network, and then stepped back. “The program has to run,” he said, turning around. “It won’t be long before our maps show where matching cars are located.”

__

Wells nodded, and then, silently, held up Hartley’s magnetic cuffs. The Flash sighed, running a hand over his face. “Doctor Wells,” he muttered, “is this necessary anymore?”

__

Wells shot the Flash a look. “Yes,” he said, firmly, and then looked back at Hartley. “Until we know we can trust him.”

__

Hartley kept his breathing level. _‘Never, then,’_ Hartley wanted to say. Instead, he walked over and held out his arms. He glanced at the Flash－ _‘See what he does to the ones he chooses, Flash?’_ －and waited silently.

__

Wells snapped the cuffs back into place, keeping eye contact with Hartley the whole time.

__

Then Hartley’s computer beeped.

__

A map of Central City popped up on the computer screens, and dozens of little yellow spots popped up across it. Hartley exhaled.

__

“Well,” he started, drained.

__

The Flash pushed himself to his feet. “I’d better get started then.”

__

Then Hartley heard something. “Wait,” he said, head snapping to the side.

__

A rapid heartbeat. A slow pace. A subtle squeak of sneakers.

__

“Cisco’s back,” he said, turning to the Flash.

__

The Flash’s eyes went wide and he blurred out of the lab. Caitlin was on her feet in a moment, and Hartley turned around, just in time for the Flash to set a dazed Cisco back on his feet, and then pull him into a hug.

__

“Cisco!” Caitlin called. Wells slouched a little in his chair.

__

Hartley’s heart stopped racing.

__

“You’re okay!” the Flash said.

__

Cisco stayed utterly still.

__

“Cisco?” the Flash asked, pulling back, and Cisco wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Cisco, what’s wrong?”

__

Cisco blinked a few times, tears in his eyes. “I－” he started. There was bruising under his left eye.

__

“You’re hurt,” Hartley said, his tone bland. There was a buzzing in his ears that had very little to do with his meta-human capabilities.

__

Caitlin was instantly at Cisco’s side. “Oh my God,” she said. “I’ve got an ice pack ready－”

__

“ _Stop,_ ” Cisco said, suddenly, hands moving up, as if to protect his face, or fend them off. “Please, just－just stop.”

__

The Flash took a step back, his own hands coming up. “Anything, buddy, okay?” he said. Caitlin met the Flash’s eyes and was moving, walking by Hartley and Wells and to the medical station.

__

Wells moved closer, and then rested his hands in his lap. “How did you escape, Cisco?”

__

The tears in Cisco’s eyes fell down his face. “I didn’t,” he choked out.

__

Hartley tensed, listening. There were no other footsteps, no out-of-place heartbeats. The only thing strange was Cisco’s rapid pulse.

__

There was a confused pause, the only noise being Caitlin searching for an ice pack. “Wait, then, Snart let you go?” the Flash asked, brow furrowed.

__

Cisco’s pulse jumped. “He, um,” he started, swallowed, started again. “He tortured my brother.”

__

The color left the Flash’s face. “Cisco－”

__

“They were gonna kill him,” Cisco continued, eyes sliding away, and then back. “They could’ve－could’ve hurt me, killed me, but, _Dante,_ ” he said, with an almost desperate air. “They were going to _kill him_ unless I－unless I－”

__

Caitlin came to a pause beside Hartley. “Cisco,” she said, softly, hands around an ice pack, “it’s _okay._ ”

__

Cisco shook his head, tears leaking down his face. “It’s _not,_ ” he said, and raised his reddened eyes to the Flash’s. “I told him. I told him your name. I’m _so sorry_ －”

__

The Flash surged forward, and engulfed Cisco in another hug. “No, no, _I’m_ sorry,” he whispered. “This is on me. _I_ put you in this position. It’s okay.”

__

Cisco clutched the back of the red suit, burying his head there. “It’s not,” he gasped out. “ _It’s not._ ”

__

And then Caitlin was marching over. Cisco caught sight of her over the Flash’s shoulder, eyes widening, and he pulled away from the hug. “Caitlin－”

__

Caitlin thrust the ice pack into Cisco’s face, inches from his nose. “Take it,” she said, voice tight.

__

Cisco blinked. “But, I－” he started, but Caitlin just shook the ice pack in front of his eyes.

__

“So help me, Cisco,” Caitlin said, voice high, “you take this ice pack, or I will start to cry. Very loudly. And messily. With _snot._ ”

__

There was a hint of a smile at the corner of Cisco’s mouth, and, with a shaking hand, he took the ice pack. “Thank you,” he whispered.

__

Caitlin nodded, tension evident in her mouth, and she leaned in and took her turn to hug him. Her breathing went ragged for a few moments, and Cisco’s sniffled messily, and then she pulled back, giving him space.

__

“Now,” she said, as Cisco put the ice pack to his face, “is there something else you needed?”

__

Cisco just stood there, in the middle of the lab, tension in every inch of his body. Finally, Wells cleared his throat. “Cisco, can we talk?” he asked.

__

There was a flash of panic and relief on Cisco’s face, heartbeat jumping, and he nodded. “Yeah, I, uh,” he began, stumbling with his words.

__

Wells rolled by him, gently touching his elbow. “Come on,” he said, still soft, in tones that Hartley remembered from the early days of working at STAR Labs, when everything felt like it was falling apart.

__

Hartley wanted to tear Cisco away from him.

__

Instead, he watched Cisco leave through the doorway. He stood there, waiting, listening.

__

“Cisco－” Wells began, a few yards down the hall.

__

“If you’re gonna fire me, I get it,” Cisco said, quickly. “I don’t deserve to be here. In fact.” There was a deep breath. “I quit.”

__

Hartley’s head snapped up. “Cisco’s quitting,” he said, eyes wide.

__

The Flash spun around and Caitlin gasped. “What?” the Flash yelped. He looked at the doorway. “We can’t let him do that,” he said. “Doctor Wells won’t let him do that.”

__

“Of course he won’t,” Caitlin said, and Hartley agreed. Cisco was too important to lose.

__

Both of them had expecting eyes on Hartley, and he frowned at them. Then he dropped his eyes to the floor, focusing on listening.

__

“I can’t be the one who－who puts him in jeopardy all the time,” Cisco was saying, building up steam. “I built that gun that Snart is using. _Again._ I mean, I just built two _other guns_ to be used against him! I _can’t_ －”

__

“Come on,” Wells murmured.

__

“The elevator?” Cisco asked. “Wait, are we going downstairs? Doctor－”

__

And then their speaking was muffled by obnoxious elevator music. Hartley blinked, shaking his head a little, and looked back up.

__

The Flash was staring at him with wide eyes. “So?” he asked. “Is Cisco still quitting?”

__

Hartley huffed out a sigh. “They’re going to the lower level, and I can’t hear them,” he said.

__

The Flash ran a hand over his mouth, looking around the room. “There’s gotta be something,” he started, and Caitlin touched his shoulder.

__

“If Doctor Wells can’t do it,” she said, “then we will.”

__

The Flash nodded, and looked over at Hartley. He raised an eyebrow. “All of us?” he asked, a sly twist to his mouth.

__

Hartley’s spine straightened. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he began, a bite to his tone, “but Cisco and I are hardly what you’d call _friends._ ”

__

Caitlin raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, and then looked pointedly at the map-covered screens all over the lab. “Yes, I think we’ve noticed a lot.”

__

That was… a fair point. Still. “If you think that any words of encouragement I give will be enough to make him stay when you three have failed,” Hartley said, trailing off.

__

“Ah,” the Flash said, “but that does mean you _have_ words of encouragement for him.”

__

Hartley closed his eyes. “You’re a little hopeless,” he uttered, and then leveled a glare at the Flash. “Do you know what would make _me_ feel better, were I in Cisco’s shoes?”

__

“Mocking someone?” the Flash asked. “Writing one-star reviews for restaurants that don’t serve your favorite flavor of soda?”

__

Hartley’s eyes narrowed. “I’d want to punch Captain Cold.”

__

Caitlin frowned. “ _I_ want to punch Captain Cold.”

__

The Flash smirked. “That, at least, I can do.”

__

”Speaking of Cold,” Caitlin began, and turned to Flash, head tilting slightly. “According to what I’ve gathered, he and his sister didn’t even take anything during their attack on the casino.”

_Hartley frowned. “Could it have been as simple as striking against the mob?” he asked. He waved his right hand, the left dangling at his side. “At the end of the day, Cold is still a criminal, with ties to that world.”_

The Flash shook his head, turning to look at the map of the city. “There are better ways to get the mob’s attention,” he said. “And attacking a casino just to draw them out is… not Cold’s style. Doing that to draw _me_ out, yeah, but not the mob.”

__

Caitlin tapped her chin. “Then the target was the casino. But why leave empty-handed?” she asked. She glanced at the Flash. “You weren’t going to take them into custody, not with Cisco in danger.”

__

The Flash stared at the map, eyes narrowing. “The casino. What is it about the casino that made it worth attacking…?” He paused, blinking, and then he sucked in a breathed. “Of course,” he said, turning around. “The goal was the money!”

__

He jogged to a computer, and his fingers blurred across the keyboard. Hartley looked over at Caitlin, who shook her head and lifted her eyebrows. Hartley looked at Flash’s back. “Surprisingly, that does seem to be what thieves _do._ ”

__

The Flash didn’t bother looking his way, but Hartley could practically _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “After a casino is attacked,” he said, stepping back from the computer, “they put all of their physical money they have into a truck, and send it to a safer location. It’s policy.”

__

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “They weren’t after the casino,” she said.

__

“They’re after the truck,” Hartley said, shaking his head. “That’s quite brilliant.” Caitlin shot him an unimpressed look, and Hartley shrugged. “Being brilliant and an asshole are not mutually exclusive things,” he said.

__

The Flash raised an eyebrow. “Example one,” he said, staring straight at Hartley.

__

Hartley, again, shrugged.

__

The Flash sighed, shaking his head, and gestured to Caitlin. “Can you call Doctor Wells and Cisco up here?” he asked. “I’m gonna use my CCPD… _connections_ to find out where this truck is.”

__

It was a… livelier Cisco that came up with Wells. Not happier, but, there was more than a dead-eyed stare in his eyes. Wells seemed rather pleased with himself, too.

__

“So,” Cisco said after the explanation, leaning over the control panel and looking at Caitlin’s screen, “where’s the truck?”

__

“We’ve got its whole route,” Caitlin said, typing and putting the map up onto the screens. “I’d bet anything that Snart has them too.”

__

“Before we do anything else,” Wells said, looking over at Hartley, “since Snart knows the Flash’s identity, and Mister Rathaway does _not_ …”

__

Hartley blinked. The Flash just let out another sigh. “Doctor Wells,” he said, reaching up and touching his mask, “I don’t think－”

__

“No, Flash,” Wells said, firm. “Not yet.”

__

Hartley raised his hands, drawing Wells’s and the Flash’s attentions. “I don’t actually _want_ to know,” Hartley said, and the Flash shook his head.

__

“You… don’t?” he asked, and glanced at Cisco, who looked just as baffled.

__

Hartley shook his head. “Nope.” Knowing who the Flash was, especially _now,_ would just prompt Wells to, most likely, kill him. Plus, he was sure he could figure it out for himself.

__

Cisco moved away from the consoles, the Flash’s and Caitlin’s eyes following him. “Well, I’m sort of _done_ with hearing Captain Cold-Hearted Snake’s voice, like, _forever,_ ” he said, coming to Hartley’s side and gripping his sleeve. “So, I’ll take him.”

__

Caitlin nodded, and then raised her eyebrows at Hartley. “Thai tonight, Hartley?”

__

Hartley paused. Did he want Thai tonight? Could he wait to have Thai? Could he risk waiting for _anything?_

__

Slowly, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. He met her gaze. “Thank you, Caitlin.”

__

She smiled back at him, and then went back to her keyboard. The Flash offered a small wave as Cisco and Hartley made their way out of the control room, and Hartley nodded back.

__

The hallway had never seemed so long.

__

Cisco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You… okay, man?” he asked, and that drew Hartley out of his headspace.

__

His mouth twisted into a thin, almost-smile. “Isn’t that supposed to be _my_ question?” he asked. The bruising around Cisco’s eye was getting darker, and Hartley felt－

__

He felt－

__

“Is your brother going to be alright?” Hartley asked, and Cisco’s eyes grew wide.

__

“He, uh,” he started, surprised. “Y-yeah. He’s at the hospital, with the rest of my family. He’ll be okay.”

__

Hartley swallowed, looking away. “Good,” he said.

__

There was several more feet of silence.

__

“Seriously, are you okay?” Cisco said, stopping them. He raised his eyebrows. “You are _out_ of it.”

__

Hartley stood there, in the hallway, staring at Cisco for a few more seconds. Then, finally, he said, “I was worried.” Cisco’s eyes widened, and Hartley huffed. “I didn’t expect to be, but I was.”

__

Cisco let out a small laugh, and they began to walk again. “Are you telling me I _grew on you?_ ”

__

“Like a fungus,” Hartley grumbled. “Specifically _Ophiocordyceps unilateralis._ ”

__

Cisco snorted. “Oh really?”

__

Hartley glowered back at him. “I named the second soundwave weapon prototype,” he began, getting a confused looked from Cisco. “It’s called _Expecto-No Patrodos._ ”

__

There was pure _glee_ in Cisco’s eyes, and his grin nearly made Hartley give one in return. “This is just the first step, you know that, right?” Cisco said, as the pipeline doors came into view. “Give it another month, and I’ll have you quoting Star Trek.”

__

Hartley rolled his eyes.

__

The handcuffs came off and the door opened. Cisco frowned as Hartley stepped inside. “I don’t have a change of clothes for you….”

__

“It’s fine,” Hartley said, turning around and standing in the center of his cell. “I think I’ll skip the shower.”

__

Cisco shrugged. “Your choice, dude,” he said, rolling his shoulders.

__

Hartley waited for Cisco to move to the control panel before lifting his right hand in the Vulcan ta’al, his left going behind his back. Cisco’s eyes widened.

__

“Live long and prosper, Science Officer Ramon,” Hartley intoned, blanking his face.

__

Cisco grinned back, raising his left hand in the ta’al in return. “Peace and long life, Hartley,” he said. And then he closed the door.

__

Hartley only had to wait thirty or so minutes for Caitlin to come by, yielding Thai food, pajamas, and gum.

__

“Merci beaucoup,” Hartley said, taking the food and clothes back into his cell.

__

Caitlin shook her head. “Il n'y a pas de quoi,” she told him. “Are you sure you don’t want to shower?”

__

Hartley nodded, taking his food and simply shuffling off with it to a corner. “Perhaps I’ll take one in the morning,” he said, smirking.

__

“That’ll make Doctor Wells happy,” Caitlin said, smiling. She gestured to the cart behind her, full of food and clothes. “Well, I should get finished with this.”

__

Hartley nodded. “Of course,” he said. “À la prochaine, Caitlin.”

__

“Bonne nuit, Hartley,” Caitlin replied, and set Hartley back to the pipeline wall.

__

Hartley spent the next hour or so listening as Caitlin gave out food and moved cells around for the meta-humans to bathe. Once Caitlin’s footsteps began to fade away, Hartley leaned his left ear against the back wall of the cell, closed his eyes like he had fallen asleep, and carefully reached up and slipped the hearing dampener out.

__

The pain was instantaneous, the screeching tinnitus accompanied by the feeling of someone shoving a power drill into his ear. His stomach roiled, and he forced his body to be still, to not draw attention to the fact that he was _writhing_ on the inside.

__

_‘Focus focus focusfocusfocus,’_ he thought, curling his right hand into a fist and knocking his broken hand against the wall, trying to find relief.

__

It was like listening to the world turn, dragging knives down chalkboards as it went, if the chalkboards were his eardrums. Without noise to focus on, without the dampeners to literally weaken his hearing, _this noise_ was almost all he could hear.

__

There was a man who could control the weather just a few feet down the pipeline from him. Hartley’s superpower was _awful._

__

After several long, nauseating minutes, Hartley’s ears finally found something to listen to: rising through the ringing was the telltale _thump-thump_ of a heartbeat. Hartley latched onto it, focusing on it until the agony faded slightly. Around him, he heard four other heartbeats, and then his own.

__

Six heartbeats. Five in the pipeline. One in the lab itself.

__

Hartley sucked in a breath, feeling cold and clammy and sweaty, and waited.

__

And waited.

__

And _waited._

__

An eternity of suffering later, the heartbeat in the lab began to move. Further away from Hartley and the pipeline, blessedly. The moment Hartley heard the elevator start to move, he was moving, too.

__

He took a steadying breath before reaching backward, and carefully pulled the finger cast from his hood. The batteries and wires were still within, although the batteries remained in the gum. He hissed out a breath, shaking the lump of gum free, and grabbed the plastic fork from the Thai food container (the scent was making him nauseous) and began to chip away at the gum.

__

Minutes later, Hartley had the free battery attached to one of the wires, and was pressing the other end of the wire into the hearing dampener Cisco had made. He rose to his feet, and pain made him stagger to the side. He had to use the wall to stabilize himself, sucking in breaths, and walked to the glass door.

__

In his own design, the heads of the hearing dampeners was made to stick to any surface when pressed against it. (Except organic material: wouldn’t want to accidentally blow up his own head.) The ones Cisco made lacked that functionality. So Hartley had to improvise, by nipping off an eighth or so of the Thai-place’s gum, and using that to stick it against the glass.

__

One final squeeze to activate the sonic emitter, and Hartley turned, crouching in the back right corner.

__

And he waited.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations :**
> 
> Merci beaucoup  
>  – French; _Thank you very much_
> 
> Il n'y a pas de quoi  
>  – French; _There is no need to thank me_
> 
> À la prochaine  
>  – French; _Until next time_
> 
> Bonne nuit  
>  – French; _Good night._
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> You know, when I first started writing this, I told myself the chapters would be short and sweet! Maybe 5K on the longest ones!
> 
> I am a fool. I don’t know how to shut up.
> 
> (You wanna know what the car brand Lisa’s driving? I think it’s a 2012 BMW 328i. After spending two hours trying to match the picture, I realized that I didn’t have to get that specific. NO ONE CARES.)


	6. Tricksters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author’s Notes :** I am very sorry for how delayed this chapter was. I posted about this on Tumblr, but, in case you didn’t see it there, I’ll explain again. I’ve done… something to my arm and shoulder that made doing much of anything with it very painful. It’s gotten much better recently ( _as in, this morning_ ), which is why I’m actually able to do something! ( _Thank goodness. I was getting Creative Back-Up. …You ever seen Fairly Odd Parents?_ )
> 
> I’m lucky, in that I prewrote this chapter before I injured myself, but it still needed editing and having the html coding put in, which takes about three hours to do by itself, so. Ow. But I really wanted to get a chapter out before the season finale aired on Tuesday.
> 
> I actually edited this the night before I posted this chapter, and I was sure it was gonna be some time before I was going to be able to write full chapters. But, this morning, I am almost completely fine and oh my gosh I am so pleased. XD So, hopefully, barring any relapses or something, I should be back to normal really, really soon! The next chapter might be a little late as I try to get back into a rhythm again, though.
> 
> Thank you to my readers, and those who commented on the last chapter! Also! Katkee wrote a fanfic-fanfic for this story, about how the alternate timeline of _‘Out of Time’_ might have gone. It's very good, and I encourage everyone who was a little sad that I skipped over that part to go read it. It's not, ah, _canon_ to this fic, but, still so good! ♥ It's called: _Harmonize: Out of Time_ , and you can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6851050).
> 
> Again, apologies! But I am very, very glad to be writing again.
> 
> This chapter picks up before a day has passed since _“Rogue (Out of) Time”_.

_They were alone. They were alone except for Hartley, crumpled on the floor behind Doctor Wells. Hartley was quiet because he’s been gone for months, because he wasn’t there, because he was lying on the ground. Doctor Wells looked fondly at Cisco, sitting and standing, and Cisco wanted to cry, he had been crying, will be crying._

_“In many ways, you have shown me what it’s like to have a son.”_

_The containment field was at his back, and it was broken and fixed and_ sabotaged. _Pressure in his chest, around his heart, emotional and physical and he was elated and he was_ dead he’s dead he’s dead _dead for centuries_ －

Cisco woke up, gasping, to the pleasant chiming of his cellphone ringtone. His heart was pounding－still beating－and he sucked in great, gasping breaths. He was _shaking._ He was crying.

His phone was still ringing.

Cisco flailed, reaching for his bedside table and grabbed the phone, not even looking at the number before he answered.

“Holaow?” he garbled into the phone, brain still trying to catch up.

 _“Mister Ramon, hello,”_ a brisk and cheerful and _totally unfamiliar_ woman said from the other end of the line, _“this is Mary Louise Shroger from Channel 52 News.”_

That had Cisco instantly sitting up. Oh no. Oh man. Did someone unmask Barry? Did Cold spill despite saying he _wouldn’t?_ “Uh－” he began, but was quickly cut off.

_“I was wondering if I could get a statement from you on the latest leak from STAR Labs?”_

Cisco’s mouth moved without his permission. “What leak?”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. Then, _“Mister Ramon, were you aware that your employer, Doctor Harrison Wells, had been warned that the particle accelerator could in fact explode, despite him and the Norris Committee both affirming the opposite immediately after the catastrophe?”_

Cisco couldn’t breathe.

_“Mister Ramon?”_

“No comment,” Cisco said, and hung up.

And his phone immediately began to ring again. Another unknown number, and Cisco could only stare at it. He reached out and declined the call with a shaking finger.

Only for it to ring again.

And again.

_And again._

Eventually, Cisco had had to shove his phone under his mattress to muffle it. Then he grabbed his tablet, where he found he’d been emailed about the information leak around _a hundred times_ in the past two hours.

It was only five in the morning.

The leak itself was easy to come across: every local news station was reporting on it, as well as several of the major media outlets. The actual document itself had been removed already, and most of the media agreed that it had probably been Doctor Wells himself who’d done it. But the internet was forever, and there were screencaps and copy-and-pastes all around for Cisco to find.

And what he found was _condemning._

It was formulas and equations that, to the average person, looked like another language. In fact, that was what the media was spending much of their coverage on: simply bringing in people to _explain_ what the document was saying. Cisco didn’t need an interpreter.

Doctor Wells had _lied to them._

He’d told them all that there was _no way_ anyone could have foreseen the explosion. That it was a freak accident, caused by the new technology they were creating, unpredictable. But these numbers painted a different picture.

 _‘Sorry About the Mess,’_ the leak was titled. It was signed, _‘Your Guy.’_

Cisco needed a drink. It was only seven in the morning and he _needed a drink_ and how was he supposed to go in to work?

Was he supposed to just _call in_ and say, _“Sorry, suffering from an extreme case of betrayal right now, I’ll be in tomorrow?”_

He groaned, leaning back, into his couch, and pressed his hands over his eyes. He hadn’t even bothered to open any blinds yet－it felt like his whole apartment was still asleep. For a moment, he thought about just crawling back into bed, and trying to wake up again. See if that reset the day.

And then there was the sound of lightning, and a quick breeze.

“Cisco!” Barry yelped, his voice suddenly in the living room.

Cisco snapped his hands down, staring at Barry in shock. He was dressed in the Flash suit, and was pulling the cowl back. Cisco just blinked.

Barry exhaled, running a hand over his bare face. “You’re okay,” he said, which set off all sorts of alarms in Cisco’s head.

“What?” Cisco croaked.

Barry looked around the room, taking in the muted television, playing the news, Cisco’s bulky laptop he used for more major projects sitting open and displaying the STAR Labs leak, and his tablet sitting on the small coffee table, dozen of unopened emails still waiting.

Cisco was still in his t-shirt and boxers.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Barry said, and then grimaced. “You heard,” he said.

“Yeah,” Cisco grumped. He looked around at the electronic disaster his couch had become, and then frowned at Barry. “Why didn’t you knock?” he asked, and then crawled across his couch to peer around the living room wall and to his front door. “Dude, you left the door open.”

“Ah, sorry, yeah,” Barry said, and the front door was closed in a blur of yellow lightning. Then he was back in front of Cisco, shrugging. “I was just worried.”

“About what?” Cisco said, and ran his hands down his face. “That the press were gonna come and eat me?” When it had been very quiet, he could sometimes still hear his phone ringing.

Barry shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Nah, most of them are parked out in front of STAR Labs, which is making it hard to come and go.”

Cisco raised his eyebrows. “So, then, what?” he asked. “Another meta on the loose?”

Barry’s face twisted, like he’d bit into a lemon. “Yeah,” he said, darkly. He blinked a few times, and then looked away from Cisco. “Hartley escaped last night.”

Cisco stared.

Barry swallowed, eyes darting back to him. “Uh, Cisco? Are you okay?”

“He－What?” Cisco babbled. It didn’t make sense. They’d been building something－a friendship, even, why would－

 _‘You don’t keep friends locked up in the basement,’_ his inner-Captain America told him. _‘You don’t become friends with people who try to kill your mentor_ -slash- _employer,’_ his inner-Wolverine replied.

_Crud pancakes._

“Is everyone okay?” Cisco asked, putting a hand over his eyes.

“Everyone’s fine,” Barry said. “Caitlin and－and Wells came in to take care of the metas, and found the mess.”

Cisco raised his head. “What mess?” he asked. “What did he do to the labs?”

Barry shook his head. “Nothing to the labs,” he said, and then cringed. “ _But_ he did manage to blow-up the pipeline entrance, and his own cell door.” Cisco groaned, and Barry shrugged. “I cleaned up the debris, but, we’re gonna have to work to replace that blast door and fix the cell.”

The images from Cisco’s wildly vivid daydreams, during those first few days of having Hartley in the pipeline, came back to him. That escaped sounded… eerily familiar. “Did you catch him?” Cisco asked, and then put his hands over his eyes again, sliding further down his couch. “No, otherwise you would’ve lead with that. This day _sucks_ and it’s not even _eight in the morning yet._ ”

“Caitlin’s on coffee and doughnut duty,” Barry said. “She’s… not happy with Wells, either.”

Cisco didn’t know how to address that. Were _any_ of them happy that Wells had lied to them? What a _day._ First the leak, now Hartley－

Or. Wait.

“When did Hartley escape?” Cisco asked, head snapping up. First Hartley, and _then_ the leak…?

Barry frowned, eyes narrowing. “Uh, around two in the morning?” he offered. Then his eyes widened. “Er, I’d guess.”

Cisco eyed him before dragging his tablet back into his lap. “And I started to get the first emails about the leak over an hour later,” he said, looking up at Barry.

Barry raised his eyebrows. “You think Hartley caused the leak?”

Cisco looked back down at his tablet. “I think I need a vacation,” he grumbled, and then shoved himself to his feet. “But a coffee and doughnut from Jitters, and an awkward conversation with my boss is going to have to do.”

He got dressed, leaving Barry in the living room. For his t-shirt of the day, he chose a lovely blood-orange t-shirt depicting the silhouette of a man wielding a chainsaw, the words _‘Free Hugs’_ carved elegantly in the shadow’s center.

It fit his _mood._

Cisco arrived at work via the Barry Express, but with a new terrifyingly _awesome_ detour: Barry had had to take Cisco up to the _roof_ of STAR Labs to get in through the top entrance. Out at the front and back entrances news vans had gathered, and people were crowding the entrances. With Barry’s speed, getting past them had been easy, but now, as Cisco peered down at them from one of the windows on the uppermost floor, he cringed.

“How am I supposed to get _home?_ ” he asked, turning to look at Barry.

Barry offered a small shrug. “Joe’s already said he’ll send some cops this way if things get out of hand,” he said. There was a pause. “And Wells said he was preparing a press release when I left.”

“Ah man,” Cisco breathed, looking back out the window. “What a circus.”

They took the elevator to the labs like normal human beings and found Caitlin, sitting at the control panel with her head in her hands.

“Hey, Cait,” Cisco said, and Caitlin’s head snapped around to stare at him for a second. Then she smiled, a little weak.

“Good morning, Cisco,” she said, and cringed. “Or, not good. I guess.”

“Where’s Wells?” Barry asked, eyes flicking around the lab.

Caitlin blinked a few times, and then took in a breath. “He’s fielding calls from the press,” she said, and then rubbed at her temples. “They woke me up at five.”

Cisco held his hand up. “Hey, me too!” he said, with forced cheer. Caitlin laughed and high-fived him, her own smile becoming brighter.

Cisco glanced around the labs, and then his eyes landed on Hartley’s－no. The lab that held Hartley’s gloves, and the Expecto-No.

His heart stopped.

“Oh no,” Cisco said, and rushed around the table. “No no no no no!”

Caitlin and Barry were at his heels as he rushed into the lab. “What is it?” Caitlin asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Ese pendejo!” Cisco hissed. The lab itself wasn’t too bad: from the brief glance, Cisco could see that none of the tools were missing, and nothing was broken. But there were _some_ things missing. “Hartley took it.”

Barry’s brows rose. “His gloves?” he asked, peering over Cisco’s shoulder.

“No－Or, not _just_ the gloves,” he said, and waved his hand at the basically empty workstation. “He took the Expecto-No, too.”

Caitlin’s eyes grew wide. “But, without that, how are we supposed to destroy the Time Dementor in the future?”

Cisco scowled, running is hands over his eyes. “I still have the schematics,” he said, sighing. “It would be easier to have the actual _prototype here_ to test things on, but, I can－I’ll manage. I just.”

How could he explain? He and Hartley had been adversarial rivals _at best_ before Hartley left STAR Labs. He and Cisco hadn’t worked on many projects together, mostly because Hartley was _too important to be wasting his time._ It was true, in a way, but Hartley never hid that he hated working with Cisco. These last few months had been… they’d been fun.

“Oh man,” Cisco said, and his heart felt a little broken. “He gave me the Vulcan salute before I left him last night. He told me _live long and prosper._ I replied _‘peace and long life’_.”

Barry cringed with his whole body, shoulders curling and hands clenching. “Ouch,” he said. And then, slowly, carefully, shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe that was his way of saying goodbye? And no hard feelings?”

“He stole the Expecto-No,” Cisco said flatly, gesturing at the empty table.

“He blew up two doors,” Caitlin offered.

“He also hacked our system,” came Doctor Wells’s voice, from the pipeline hallway.

Cisco took a breath before he turned around, alongside Caitlin and Barry. Wells simply sat there, in the doorway of the control room, and looked at them. “He betrayed your trust,” he said, softly, eyes flitting between the three of them. “And so did I.”

“So you knew,” Caitlin said, voice tense. “You knew that－that there was a chance－” She couldn’t continue, mouth hanging open. She swallowed heavily. 

Cisco just stood there, anger tight in his gut. Barry might as well have been made of stone.

Wells closed his eyes, nodding, and slowly came closer, wheeling the long way around the center controls station, giving them space. “Hartley came to me,” he started, quietly, “and he… he warned me there was a chance that the accelerator could explode.”

Caitlin made a soft gasping noise, eyes widening. “Hartley?” she asked, soft and choked.

Wells nodded. “His data did not show a one hundred percent certainty,” he continued, “but, the risk was _real._ ”

Cisco remembered the fervor that Hartley had worked to save Ronnie and Stein. It had seemed so _weird_ that Hartley had cared that much, weird but nice. It had proved that Hartley did, in fact, have a heart somewhere in there. And now it made _sense._

“And yet I made the decision,” Wells said, “that… that everything we could learn－everything we could _achieve,_ that all of that… outweighed that risk.” His eyes had fallen to the floor, and his hands were clenched tightly together. “I am… I’m sorry.”

Barry was nearly _vibrating_ with rage. “People _died,_ ” Barry hissed, and Wells’s eyes rose to his. Barry shook his head. “People are _still dying_ because of this!”

Wells nodded, keeping Barry’s gaze. “I know,” he said, tone calm, and it was almost _grating_ on Cisco’s nerves. “And I’m trying to make up for that mistake. With the work _here,_ that I’m doing _now._ With you, Barry, as the Flash. With Cisco and Caitlin, and even, sometimes, with Hartley.”

Barry’s hands clenched into fists, and, finally, he choked out, “I need to go to work.” Then he was gone, blowing Cisco’s and Caitlin’s hair into their faces.

Caitlin stood there for a moment more, her own anger better hidden, but Cisco could almost feel it, from the tenseness of her shoulders. “Then the next time you choose to put our lives, and the lives of the people that we love, at risk,” she said, “I’ll expect a heads up.”

Then she, too, stormed out of the control room, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

That left Cisco, alone, with Wells.

No.

Wait.

It was _Barry alone with Wells._

 _Wells sat there, waiting, and Barry stayed where he was, partially sitting on the table of medical supplies. There was disappointment on his face, but the anger was gone－no, it had never_ been there.

_“After the explosion, when everyone else left you…” Barry paused, eyes narrowing, and he nodded in the direction of the door.. “Caitlin and Cisco stood by you.” Wells’s eyes closed, and he bowed his head, and Barry continued. “You owe them more than an apology.”_

_Wells’s mouth thinned into a tense smile. “They might soon get more than that,” he said, “what with Hartley so intent on sending me to the next world.”_

_Barry’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “What are－” he began, and then stopped. He stood up, stepped towards Wells. “That wouldn't make it right with them,” he said. Wells swallowed, sitting up and crossing his arms. Barry shook his head. “You broke their trust._ Our trust. _”_

 _And then Barry, too, walked around Wells’s chair, and left into the hallway,_ and Cisco was alone again with Wells.

But Cisco had been alone with Wells the entire time.

Cisco closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. What－?

“Mister Ramon? Cisco!”

Cisco’s eyes snapped wide open, and he found himself just a few feet from Wells. Or, rather, that Wells had moved to just a few feet from him. His brows were furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?”

Cisco blinked, rapidly, heart pounding in his chest. “I-I, yeah,” he said, taking a step sideways, around Wells. “I just－no sleep,” he started, stepping backwards again. “Early call from the press, I just－need some coffee.” He gestured behind him, bumping into the center control panel. “Gah! Uh, I’ll be－I’ll be checking out the damage Hartley did. Sir.”

Wells looked utterly confused as Cisco spun around and darted away.

That had not been normal. That had been _the complete opposite of normal._ What was that? Was he having some surreal _‘What Would Barry Do’_ moments?

Cisco shook his head and finally rounded the last corner of the hallway－

_And keyed in the code to open Hartley’s cell. Hartley hadn’t moved from his sulking position in the back of it, eyes narrowed._

_“What?” Hartley asked, looking up from his bent knee. “Did Wells change his mind?”_

_“Nope,” Cisco said, falsely bright, and Hartley’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still grounded for blowing up the lab.”_

_“That was an_ accident, _” Hartley snarled, the same flare of anger that he’d shown when Doctor Wells had ordered him back to his cell. Cisco had gotten the feeling it wasn’t just going to be a temporary thing, this time._

 _It had been weird, Doctor Wells’s reaction yesterday. The Expecto-No was just as much Cisco’s responsibility, which meant its failure and its subsequently_ explosive _outcome was partially on Cisco's shoulders. And, sure, the damage had been extensive: some computers had been lost, a wall, some windows, and Caitlin had gotten a nasty cut. The anger was to be expected, yeah, but Doctor Wells had zeroed in on Hartley like a dog with a bone. And Hartley had gotten angry, sniped back, but had just… given up, seconds later. Bowed his head and went_ quiet.

 _Cisco couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what Barry had said about that reporter’s upcoming story on Simon Stagg. About what Joe believed regarding Barry’s mother’s murder. About the containment field just failing. About_ everything.

_Cisco shook his head, and continued. “I’m ignoring what Doctor Wells said.”_

_That made Hartley freeze. His eyes grew wide. “What?” he said, and scrambled to his feet. “Cisco, what are you doing?”_

_Cisco glanced behind him, as if Doctor Wells could roll down the hallway at any moment. “Listen, I have Caitlin distracting Doctor Wells for a little while, and all the cameras are looped.” He spread his hands, nodding at Hartley. “I have limited time, and you could make this go faster.”_

_Hartley swallowed, and there was that_ fear _again. “Cisco,” he started, slowly stepping forward. “This… Are you sure you want to do this?”_

_No._

_“I have to know,” Cisco said, and held up the magnetic cuffs_ －

“Stop!” Cisco shouted, fingers clawing the air in front of him. He gasped in a breath, staring at the jagged hole in the pipeline blast door. He’d seen this scene before, experienced this moment. Dreamed this explosion, this fallout.

“What’s happening to me?” Cisco whispered.

“Cisco?”

Caitlin was coming down the hallway, and, for a moment, Cisco wasn’t sure if he was having another hallucination (what else could he call them). Then she popped around the corner, and Cisco just _knew._ She looked at him, and then around the hallway.

“I heard you shouting,” Caitlin said. Her eyebrows rose as she looked at the pipeline door. “He… really did a lot of damage,” she said. Then she bit her lip. “But he also helped people. Helped us.”

Cisco didn’t think she was entirely talking about Hartley.

“Is there really an even trade for this sort of thing?” Cisco asked, trying to shake off his odd feeling, the odd images rattling in his brain. “I don’t… I don’t know how much I can fix. What I’ll have to just… throw away.”

Caitlin nodded, not looking in his direction. “The stuff we throw away, though, that can be replaced,” she said.

Cisco shoved his hands into his pockets. “What if I don’t want to replace it?”

Caitlin met his gaze again. “Then we end up with a giant hole in the wall with no way to close it?”

Cisco rolled his eyes, a small smile curling on his mouth. “Are we still talking in code, or…?”

“It still kind of fits,” she said, walking over to the pipeline and peering out through the shattered door. “What are you going to do? Leave STAR Labs?” She threw a look over her shoulder at that.

Cisco sighed. “No, you’re right, I just…” He shook his head. “This has been a mess of a day,” he said. And then he groaned. “And I still haven’t had any coffee or doughnuts.”

Caitlin laughed, walking to his side, and extending her arm. “Then let’s get you a coffee and a doughnut, and then we’ll get started on the doors.”

Cisco smiled back at her, took her arm, and gladly let her lead him from the pipeline entrance.

 

* * *

 

The next time Cisco saw Doctor Wells, he was on television.

Caitlin and Cisco had been looking over the blueprints of the blast doors, looking to see if any upgrades could or should be made, when Cisco had heard the words _“Doctor Harrison Wells”_ spoken, and looked up at the monitors.

“What?” he asked, eyes going wide, and lunged across their workstation for the remote.

Caitlin squawked. “Cisco!” she yelped, hands flying to grab the tablet that nearly crashed to the floor.

“Shhh!” Cisco said, and turned up the volume. Caitlin’s eyes followed his gaze to the monitor displaying their local news, and she gasped.

Doctor Wells had just wheeled into the middle of the CCPD lobby, a small table covered in microphones sitting in front of him. There seemed to be a crowd of reporters there to watch him. Cisco could see Joe standing in the background, and wondered if Barry was there, too.

“I want to thank everyone for coming on such short notice,” Doctor Wells began, and the chatter was instantly gone. “As many of you know, STAR Labs was the victim of a hacking attack late last night, and the data that the hacker retrieved had been distributed to the internet.

“Now, some have questioned the veracity of the information,” Wells continued, “citing the ten-volume report the Norris Commission released following the particle accelerator’s explosion. According to that report, as those brave and tenacious souls who actually read the whole thing know, the commission found that the catastrophe was caused by a chain of events that no one could have predicted. And that is not the truth.”

Wells closed his eyes, and Cisco could hear the sound of cameras firing.

“The truth is,” Wells continued, “I was, in fact, warned that the particle accelerator could fail.”

There was a rumble of noise, and Cisco could hardly believe it. With the Norris Commission’s report, Doctor Wells could have denied the leak. Some people wouldn’t have believed him, but there was enough doubt to get away with it. But here he was, admitting it.

“A colleague,” Wells said, adjusting his glasses, “someone I had called a friend, warned me. And I ignored them, and, in doing so, I failed this city.” Wells looked around the room. “I failed all of you. I failed those who trusted me most. Today, in coming forward, I hope to move toward _regaining_ their trust.” He paused, and then nodded. “And your trust as well. Thank you.”

“Doctor Wells!” a man called. “Did anyone who worked or currently works at STAR Labs know about this warning?”

Wells shook his head. “No. I and I alone take the blame.

“Doctor Wells!” a woman shouted. “Was the _‘friend’_ you mentioned also the anonymous hacker, known as ‘Your Guy’?”

“I wouldn’t be comfortable making that sort of guess at this time,” Wells said. “I’ll leave that to the police investigation to discover.”

“Doctor Wells!”

And then Cisco’s phone rang. Caitlin glanced at it, wincing. Their phones had been relatively quiet in the past few hours, but every once in a while, some reporter would start calling again. Over and over.

And Cisco had hit his limit. He grabbed the phone and stabbed the answer button, snarling, “Look, I have friends in the police, and if you people don’t stop calling me－”

_“He loves to hear himself speak, doesn’t he?”_

Cisco snapped to attention, spine straightening. “Hartley,” he said, stunned, and Caitlin turned to stare at him.

 _“I’m a little disappointed,”_ Hartley’s voice drawled. _“I thought for sure you’d have put a tracker on the Expecto-No_ at least. _”_

Cisco glared into space, feeling his face heat. It felt like he’d gone back in time, to when he’d been first hired and Hartley was top-dog. “Called to gloat?” he ground out.

 _“Hardly,”_ Hartley said. _“I’ve decided to return it to you. Since I doubt I’ll be time-traveling anytime soon, and I really have no need for this thing.”_

Cisco blinked, shaking his head. “You… Wait. What’s the catch?”

 _“Not me,”_ Hartley said, laughter evident in his voice. _“The catch is you have a time limit. Let’s keep the King off the board.”_

Cisco opened his mouth. Shut it. His heart pounded. “There’s no way I’m coming to meet you alone.”

Hartley snorted. _“Who said anything about_ meeting me? _Go to the alley behind Jitters, where we so valiantly rescued Ronnie.”_ There was a scuffing noise, and a small grunt. _“While the cat’s away, the rats shall play. You have twenty minutes.”_

And, without giving Cisco a chance to speak, Hartley hung up.

Cisco stared at the phone for several seconds, and then he looked over at Caitlin. “He wants to give us back the Expecto-No.”

That had Caitlin blinking. “He wants to _what?_ ”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either, but,” Cisco replied, rising, “he said I only have twenty minutes to get to the alley behind Jitters, so－”

“You’re not going alone!” Caitlin snapped, also jumping to her feet. “I have my car, it’s faster than the van.”

Cisco only took one second to think about telling her not to, and then nodded. “I’ll meet you in the garage,” he said, and took off running before Caitlin could reply. He left the control room, down the left hallway, and ran to the secure storage area. There was something he’d made that, if they had to face down Hartley without the Flash, Cisco wanted to have.

He’d made a device specially tuned to Hartley’s dampeners, and, unless Hartley had a set that were radically different from the ones he’d worn when he’d first arrived at STAR Labs, it should still work. He’d called it the ‘Dog Whistle’, because, although there was a ringing noise that a person of average hearing could pick up, it would only be debilitating to Hartley and Hartley alone.

Cisco keyed in the locker code, where he’d stored the device, and quickly opened the door. As he took in the interior, though, he frowned. The small box he’d kept the device in was upside-down－someone had been in here. Someone had looked through this－

And then Cisco blushed.

Doctor Wells must’ve seen him putting away the Dog Whistle, Cisco realized. He must’ve wanted to see what Cisco had created off the clock again. If it was a weapon. If it was something that could hurt Barry.

Although, for all the guy had grumbled about Cisco not trusting Barry….

Cisco pulled the box out, turned it over in his hand, and opened the lid. The Dog Whistle was small, square, and white－very simple compared to some of Cisco’s other feats. But its _function_ was simple, and Cisco had been in a rush to build it. With a flick of his wrist, Cisco dumped the device into his palm.

_And then he heard the high-whistling of the Dog Whistle, and Cisco was surprised: he didn’t even have it on him._

_But then Hartley started screaming, and Cisco didn’t have time to be surprised._

_“Hartley!” Cisco shouted, turning around, and froze._

_Doctor Wells was standing in the elevator doors. He was_ standing.

 _Doctor Wells was_ standing.

_And Hartley was still screaming, crumpled into a ball on the floor._

_“Stop!” Cisco shouted, stumbling forward. His mind was rushing. He couldn’t－couldn’t_ focus. _“Stop, you’re hurting him!”_

_Wells didn’t look all that moved. “Isn’t that why you made this though?” he asked, holding up the Dog Whistle. “To hurt him?”_

The Dog Whistle and its case clattered to the floor.

Cisco stepped back, bumping into the shelf behind him, and tried to catch his breath. His hands were shaking, the terror of the－the－ _whatever that was_ still running through him. He closed his eyes, reaching behind himself, and entangling his fingers in the cool metal grating of the shelf, and breathed.

There was something wrong with him.

Was he going crazy?

Or was it－was it something else?

Cisco thought of human beings who could now teleport, who could run faster than Mach 2, who could control the weather.

And he opened his eyes.

_Don’t think about it._

He had fifteen minutes to meet Hartley. Cisco flinched as he grabbed the Dog Whistle off the ground, but nothing more happened. He stared at the device in his hand, and felt urge to hurl it against a wall.

He put it in his pocket and took off running down the hallway, and didn’t stop until he reached the garage.

Caitlin frowned at him as he opened the door to her sky-blue Fiat. “I was beginning to think you climbed down from the roof and took a cab.”

Cisco let out a small laugh, buckling himself in. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, and took a breath.

If there was one thing to thank Doctor Wells for that day, it was his press conference: while he was off at the CCPD, the news vans in front of STAR Labs had thinned dramatically. Their escape had been met with a mere handful of people taking pictures instead of a herd of microphones and cameras.

The drive to Jitters was familiar, and not even as fast as Cisco’s _mad dash_ had been last month. The drive usually only took about fifteen minutes, but Caitlin made it in ten.

Cisco was impressed. He was also very annoyed.

“Uh, hey Barry,” Cisco said once again to Barry’s cellphone voicemail, “it’s Cisco again. Caitlin and I are parking outside Jitters _right now,_ so, if you want to get here before we run into Hartley, you’ve got about ten seconds. Bye.”

Caitlin watched him from the driver’s seat. “Are you ready?” she asked.

And Cisco wasn’t sure. He felt for his pocket, for the Dog Whistle. He wasn’t sure if he could even use it. “Are you?” Cisco asked, glancing at the time on his phone. Four minutes.

Caitlin’s mouth thinned. “I want to shout at him,” she said. “I want to ask him why he didn’t just _tell us_ about Doctor Wells.” Then she paused, closing her eyes. “I want to go back to STAR Labs and install a television, bed, toilet, and sink into every one of the cells we have.”

Cisco sighed, and his hand fell away from his pocket. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me, too.”

Together, they exited her Fiat and walked around the entrance to Jitters, slipping into the alley that, just a few weeks ago, had been a mess of fallen soldiers and shattered glass. Now, it just held garbage cans and stacks of boxes.

“Hartley?” Caitlin called, like he were a missing cat instead of a meta-human who’d escaped from their homemade prison. “Hartley, are you here?”

There was no response, and Caitlin met Cisco’s gaze. Cautiously, they stepped into the alley. They peered around every box and can, as if Hartley was just hiding there, waiting to pop out and scare them.

“I swear,” Cisco grumbled, as they approached the end of the alley, “if Hartley just prank called us….”

“Shh!” Caitlin suddenly said, drawing up short.

Cisco wrinkled his nose, turning to her. “What－?”

“Do you hear that?” Caitlin asked. “It sounds like…” She paused. “Is that the Harry Potter theme?”

Cisco blinked, listening. And then he could hear it too, and he raised his eyes to the cloud-dotted sky. “He’s a troll. He’s such a troll.”

Caitlin trotted ahead of him, towards the very end of the alley, where a single cardboard box was waiting. Cisco followed after her, and the song got louder.

Caitlin hesitated, just a few feet from the box, where the music was obviously coming from. She glanced back at Cisco, biting her lip.

“Doctor Wells would say it’s trapped,” she said. But there wasn’t that sort of fear in her eyes.

And it wasn’t in Cisco, either.

He gestured to the box. “Do _you_ think it’s trapped?”

Caitlin smiled. “No,” she said.

Cisco grinned back. “Me neither,” he declared, and reached for the top of the box. Beside him, Caitlin grabbed the other end, and, together, they pulled it open.

Unsurprisingly, there was no _kaboom._

There was, instead, a small speaker attached to a cube of electronics, and Cisco would bet anything that’s what held the music file. The device had a large green button, though, with the power symbol drawn on it.

Beside it, looking unharmed, was the Expecto-No.

Cisco reached over and simply pressed the button, which clicked. The music stopped, and the small cube sparked once, dramatically, and then did no more.

Cisco rolled his eyes and picked up the Expecto-No. “We know _your_ deep-dark secret, Hartley,” he muttered, clutching the Expecto-No to his chest. “You actually care.”

With that said, he reached into his pocket, ignoring the confused look Caitlin was sending him, grabbed the Dog Whistle, and dropped it onto the pavement.

And Cisco smashed it beneath his heel.

 

* * *

 

Hartley let out a long, exhausted breath as he closed the wooden door to his current hiding place: a private dock owned by his parents. Or, rather, the wooden shack built around the dock, to protect their Coast City-based boats and jet skis.

Because that’s where Hartley was: Coast City.

It’d been a week since he’d blown his way out of STAR Labs. A week since he’d gone into his old hideaway－one of his parents many apartments－and gathered his supplies, put in his dampeners (such a relief) and had left the city.

After his call to Cisco.

He’d zigzagged across the country, paranoid that Wells would be after him in seconds. Once he heard Wells call him ‘friend’ on live television, Hartley had known his time was up and he’d gotten on the next bus out of town, using up precious cash. He’d spent almost all of it on his cross-country trip, mostly on bus fair and food.

He hadn’t been lying to Caitlin when he told her that there were worse places than under bridges to sleep.

And now, at least, he could rest. With a roof over his head, and the relatively soothing sound of water lapping against the docks beside him.

First, though, there was something he had to do.

Hartley pulled out his burner phone, which he’d bought before his trip, and called his first speed dial contact.

The phone rang twice.

_“Uh, who is this?”_

Hartley smirked, allowing himself to slide down the door, and rested on the hard floor. “Is the romance dead so soon, Barry?”

 _“Har－!”_ Barry nearly yelped into the phone, and Hartley could hear the background chatter die down. _“Uh, sorry, guys, I gotta take this.”_

 _“Everything alright?”_ Joe’s low voice rumbled through.

 _“It’s Hartley,”_ Barry whispered back.

There was a long pause. _“Oh,”_ Joe said. _“You better fill him in.”_

 _“I will, I just… I’ll be right back,”_ Barry said.

Hartley closed his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with him. “Am I interrupting something?”

 _“It can wait,”_ Barry replied. _“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to find you for_ days. _”_

Hartley huffed out a laugh. “Do me a favor,” he said. “If you do ever manage to find me, drop me a line. That means Wells is already on my ass.”

Barry grumbled. _“I found you pretty easy the first time.”_

Hartley raised his eyebrows at the white boat bobbing in the water in front of him. “Does it count if you then help me get away?”

 

* * *

 

Hartley had never felt something so good as the cool, night air on his face. The view of something other than glass walls and grey floors was amazing, too: a dark sky above the city skyline, cars driving by on the highway, and not a wheelchair in sight.

It would have been perfect, if not for the wretched, unending screaming in his ears.

That was the first thing to deal with: get to his lab and put in his spare dampeners. After that, he had to get out of the city as fast as he could. With that single focus, Hartley flipped the pillowcase, holding both his left sonic glove and the Expecto-No, over his shoulder. He was wearing the right glove, trigger at the ready. His left hand clutched the end of the pillowcase in his three working fingers.

Then he marched on, one foot in front of the other, following the sidewalk away from STAR Labs and down the highway. He’d dragged himself down this path before, almost a year ago, ears bloody and effectively deaf, all the way to his apartment.

He had a little further to go, this time.

Hartley made it into the downtown part of Central City, where the highway was out of sight and the shops were close together, before he had to rest. His focus was shot: he couldn’t keep track of the cars, and dodging traffic in the middle of the night, wearing all black? Not a smart idea.

Hartley slipped down an alley, leaning against the wall. The pain was increasing, or Hartley was just so _tired_ that his tolerance was lower. But he could do it. He’d done it before. He wasn’t _going back._

And then he heard it: a high-pitched whistling, a thrum like a hummingbird, and the crackle of electricity.

The sounds crashed into Hartley, his hearing zeroing in on it as a known threat. He let the pillowcase slowly slide to the ground and, panic making his heart race louder, he raised his gloved right hand. A flick of his wrist and the lights glowed green.

 _‘How did they find me so quickly?’_ he thought, and the red blur he instantly recognized as the Flash blitzed down the alley Hartley had chosen to rest in. _‘I disabled the alarms!’_

“Stop!” Hartley shouted, his own voice pounding in his ears. The Flash froze, raising his red hands－a counter to Hartley’s green. “Don’t come any closer, Flash.”

Hartley was shaking.

He could see that the Flash was speaking, but Hartley couldn’t hear him－the thrum of the Flash’s heart was _too loud_ and the low whining of his own gloves was blocking out all other noise that made it past the shrieking pain.

He missed Rick Astley.

“I can’t,” Hartley started, stopped. “I can’t _hear you._ ”

The Flash paused, frowned, and then gestured at Hartley’s ears.

Hartley frowned back.

“Didn’t you check the security cameras?” he asked. “I used my dampeners to escape. Where did you think the mess came from?”

The Flash’s eyes narrowed, but it was hard to tell with the mask. He took a step closer, and Hartley twitched his hand. The Flash froze.

“Don’t _test me,_ ” Hartley snapped. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I can’t go back there.”

The Flash took one of his hands and pressed it to his chin. Slowly, he spoke, his voice lost, but Hartley tried to read his lips.

 _‘I no,’_ Hartley read, or thought he read. He’d never bothered with sign language or lip reading: he wasn’t deaf. He had the _opposite problem._

This had obviously been the wrong move.

“ _‘I no’_?” Hartley asked, confused, until he said it aloud. “You know? You know!”

What did he know? That Hartley couldn’t go back? Or that he didn’t _want to?_

The Flash nodded, taking another step closer. Hartley tensed, but allowed it. Then the Flash touched his own chest, pointed at Hartley, and then used his fingers to walk across his palm.

Charades. Joy.

Hartley _had_ to learn lip-reading.

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” he said to the Flash’s attempts at communication, “but my family was more into billiards and golf.”

The Flash leveled Hartley the most blankest of faces, and he finally threw his hands into the air, rolling his eyes, and then was _gone._

And so was Hartley.

The last time the Flash had grabbed him and run, Hartley had been wearing dampeners. This time, though, he clamped his hands over his ears, to protect them, to smother the noise, because the universe was shattering around him: glass shards on chalkboards, Styrofoam-on-Styrofoam, fire alarms that _never ended._

And then it stopped, and Hartley was released. He immediately collapsed to his knees, barely able to focus on the muddy brown linoleum under his hands. The world tore at his ears.

And then someone put headphones on his head, and Lady Gaga was asking about riding on his disco stick. Which.

No.

“Lady Gaga?” Hartley rasped, even as he reached up and grasped the headphones, holding them to his ears.

The Flash was on his knees in front of Hartley, hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. The Flash let out a laugh at that, mouth quirking. “Lady Gaga is _amazing._ ”

“Not arguing,” Hartley said, and, even if he hadn’t liked some of her songs before, he’d certainly be a fan now, with her beat in his ear quieting the tinnitus.

The Flash swallowed. “Are you okay?”

Hartley closed his eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s just not do that again.”

The Flash helped Hartley to his feet, and Hartley took in the bare walls of wood, brick, and cement surrounding the large space they were in. They appeared to be in a laboratory, from the shelves of chemicals lining the room. The doorway was wide open and didn’t actually appear to have a door, and there were shelves of bagged items along the right wall. He kept turning, catching sight of windows in the corner of his eye.

And then he froze.

Leaning against the lone desk in the middle of the room, was Detective Joe West.

Hartley took a step back－was he getting _arrested_ －and Joe leaned forward, raising his hands. “Whoa, hey, nothing’s happening.”

Hartley looked over at the Flash, and immediately whipped his head away, nearly dislodging the headphones.

The Flash had taken his _mask off._

“Hartley, it’s okay,” the Flash said.

Hartley grit his teeth, because the sight of bright green eyes and short brown hair was not fading from his memory. “You don’t understand,” Hartley said, and then slowly turned back to the Flash. The cowl was still down, and Hartley just sighed, allowing himself to take in the rather attractive face. “Now that I know, Wells will absolutely kill me.”

Although, looking the Flash’s face over, he still had no idea who this man was. Besides the fact that his name was probably Barry and his father probably worked in a prison.

Joe nodded, moving into Hartley’s line of sight. “That’s why I told Barry he should break you out,” he said, and Hartley stared.

“You,” he started, turning to the Flash－confirmed as Barry－mouth working. “You were going to break me out?”

Barry snorted. “Turns out that I didn’t need to.”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Barry said, looking at the detective. “Hartley’d already broken _himself_ out.” 

That earned Hartley a wide-eyed look, and Hartley crossed his arms. He felt off-balance, out of sorts. He was missing something. “It seems I had the right idea, if the police officer and the vigilante thought it was the right time.”

Barry’s face pinched. “Yeah,” he said, darkly. “Wells isn’t who I thought we was.”

Hartley couldn’t help the startled laugh that burst out of him, and gained a glare from Barry. Hartley reached up with his left hand, rubbing his eyes with his three free fingers.

“You are preaching to the choir, Flash,” Hartley said, pulling his hand away and meeting his eyes. “I figured that out when Wells fired me.”

Joe leaned forward. “He fired you?” he said. “Wells claimed you left due to a disagreement.”

Hartley laughed _again,_ feeling inches away from a breakdown. “Yes,” he said, tone high, “yes, that’s a word for it. _Disagreement._ ” He waved off their curious looks, and instead gave them one of his own. “But why have _you_ changed your opinion?”

Barry glanced at Joe and then met Hartley’s look. “Because there was a reporter who’d been looking into Wells, said he had some proof that Wells had murdered Simon Stagg,” Barry said.

Hartley frowned. “Is the reporter dead?”

Joe shook his head. “He’s missing, and his work computer is toast.”

“Then he’s dead.”

Barry nodded. “After that, I just… it clicked.”

“And,” Joe continued, “once Barry came to me, I convinced him that _you_ might be able to help us.”

Hartley raised his eyebrows. “What, kill Wells?” he asked. “Because I can help with that, certainly.”

Barry shook his head. “No, it’s,” he started, jaw clenching. “My father is in prison for my mother’s murder,” he said, and Hartley blinked.

“I was wrong,” he muttered, and shook his head when Barry’s brow furrowed. “Continue.”

“Yeah, uh, but my dad was framed,” Barry said. “My mother was killed by another speedster, calling himself the Reverse Flash.”

Hartley’s eyes grew wide. “And you think Wells is working with him.”

Barry sighed. “Yeah.”

Hartley rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry to say I don’t have any information about your mother’s murder,” he said, and Barry’s eyes closed. “But,” Hartley continued, “I can prove that Wells was informed that the particle accelerator could explode before he turned it on.”

Joe’s eyes grew wide. “You can?”

Barry’s jaw dropped. “He _did?_ ”

Hartley nodded. “I have the files, and I can show the work,” he said.

“How did you hear about this?” Joe asked.

Hartley’s mouth thinned, and he closed his eyes. “Because I’m the one who warned him.”

For a moment, only Lady Gaga’s plea to be shown teeth was the only noise. Then Barry shook his head. “You－you _knew－_ ”

“It was unsubstantiated claims without access to the files,” Hartley said, but couldn’t meet either of their gazes. “Wells fired me the moment after I confronted him about it. Said he’d ruin me if I tried to go public with the information.” Hartley laughed, and then gestured to his ears. “He got me anyway.”

Barry shook his head. “But, why－why didn’t you－” He stopped, face flushing. “You should’ve tried _harder._ ”

Hartley rounded on him, irritation igniting off his exhaustion. “I _did,_ ” he snarled, leaning into Barry’s space. “I took what information I could and sent it to the head of the protest movement. I couldn’t put my name to it, or else it would’ve been brushed off as an ex-employee trying to get even.”

Barry stared at him, eyes widening. “The night, when the accelerator exploded,” he said, and Hartley stiffened. Barry shook his head. “You said you saw Stein. You were there _protesting._ ”

Hartley let out a huff. “And so I was,” he said, nodding his head. A smirk rose onto his lips. “It worked out so well for all of us.”

Hartley had actually gone with the intent to sabotage the particle accelerator. But the security had been too good, and the crowd had been so large. In the end, he’d shuffled in with the protesters to watch.

And he’d suffered with them.

Joe, who’d been silent during their exchange, finally spoke up. “Is it possible that Wells _wanted_ the accelerator to explode?”

Hartley frowned, looking over at Joe. “I don’t know,” he said, but, honestly, he’d believe Wells was capable of anything. “But there is something else.”

Joe nodded at him, and Hartley took a breath.

“I have no proof, no evidence, only what I saw,” Hartley said, keeping Joe’s gaze. “Wells doesn’t need his wheelchair.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t－”

“The night I attacked him, in his home,” Hartley said. “I saw him standing.”

Joe stepped forward. “What else did you see?”

Hartley shook his head. “I kept my distance,” he said. “But he all but admitted to me.”

Barry sputtered. “He－what?”

“And then he threatened to paralyze me, so,” Hartley drawled, but he glanced over his shoulder, as if Wells was going to walk through the doorway.

Joe blew out a breath. “I’d offer you police protection, but, if he and the Reverse-Flash are working together….”

Hartley nodded. “My best chance is to get out of the city,” he said. “As soon as possible. The alarms are disabled at STAR Labs, so, until someone goes to see the pipeline, I won’t be discovered missing.”

Barry nodded. “I can get you out of the city,” he offered.

Hartley sighed. “I need to get to where I was staying before….” He gestured around himself. “It has an extra set of dampeners, my laptop, and some cash.”

Joe nodded, looking over at Barry, and then met Hartley’s gaze. “If you need more money, you just give us a call, alright?”

That stopped Hartley cold. “What?”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “You’re going on the run from a powerful man with powerful friends,” he said. “If you need help, you call.”

Hartley swallowed. There was a small part of him, full of pride stuffed into him by his parents and their expectations, that wanted to turn him down. The rest of him, however, wanted to _live._

“I will,” Hartley said, and turned to Barry. “If I give you an address, will you know where to find it?”

Barry nodded, moving to pull up his cowl. Then he paused. “Uh, before we go,” he said, and extended his hand. “I’m Barry Allen.”

Something in Hartley warmed as he took Barry’s hand with his right, still wearing the sonic glove. “It’s good to finally meet you, Barry.”

Barry grinned. “Let’s get you out of here, Hartley.”

 

* * *

 

 _“It totally counts,”_ Barry replied, firmly.

“Anyway,” Hartley drawled, “how did Cisco like my gift?”

 _“You mean the thing you stole and then returned?”_ Barry snorted. _“He loves it. He’s very grateful. Why did you take it in the first place?”_

Hartley thought of his laptop, of the things he’d been working on while traveling from bus stop to bus stop. “Reasons.”

 _“Fine, fine,”_ , Barry said. There was a moment a silence, and then Barry took in a breath. _“They’re both still so angry at him,”_ he said, quietly. _“What if he thinks they know? What if he－”_

“He won’t,” Hartley said, sharp. “Barry, he won’t. His ego won’t let him think he’s been discovered. Why do you think he just let me walk away the first time?” Because he’d believed Hartley could be silenced without death. Wells knew better, now.

 _“But they’re_ trapped _there,”_ Barry said. _“I can’t make them leave, and can’t let them know. So they have to keep working with him.”_

Hartley raised his eyes to the wooden ceiling. What was he supposed to say? That it wasn’t dangerous? “You’re right,” Hartley said, simply. “But it’s up to you how you deal with it. Keep them in the dark and hope that, while they’re angry they don’t stumble across something. Or－”

Barry sighed. _“Or tell them,”_ he said. _“And make sure they hide it.”_

“It’s your choice,” Hartley said. “You have time. Don’t rush. Wells has been playing this game for _fifteen years,_ Barry. He’ll wait. You have to wait, too.” When Barry’s silence lingered, Hartley rolled his shoulders. “Look, I called to check in, and let you know I’ve reached a safe space to hide out in for awhile. I－”

 _“Oh God,”_ Barry suddenly said, voice tense. _“I can’t believe I almost forgot. Hartley, listen.”_

Hartley sat up. “Barry?”

 _“Wells_ is _the Reverse Flash,”_ Barry said, and Hartley’s heart stuttered. Barry continued. _“He’s a speedster, like me.”_

Suddenly, Hartley felt wide-awake. “So,” he started, voice choked, “so, I guess distance doesn’t matter so much.”

 _“Joe and I have put aside some money if you need it, okay,”_ Barry said, quickly. _“You just say the word.”_

Hartley had only twenty dollars in fives and ones in his pocket. “Barry,” he murmured, “I’m saying the word.”

 _“Alright,”_ Barry said. _“We can fix that.”_

It was the only thing they could fix, Hartley thought, and let his head fall against the wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations** :
> 
> Ese pendejo  
> Spanish; _That jerk_
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> Cisco’s t-shirt is this one: “[Free Hugs](https://www.threadless.com/product/6044/Free_Hugs)” from Threadless.
> 
> This was a weird chapter to write, because there is utterly nothing from the episode itself actually in it. Which is a shame, because it’s one of my favorite episodes. But I hope you enjoyed this one, nonetheless. Again, thank you for your patience, and your further patience for the next chapter. Fingers crossed for a great season finale! ( _Will we actually see Hartley this time? Who knows!_ )

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Harmonize: Out of Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851050) by [Katkee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katkee/pseuds/Katkee)




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